


Domestic December

by smithsonianstucky (thelarenttrap)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dogs, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Snow, Snowed In, because i am a sucker for stucky with pets, literally everything Christmas and snow related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 30,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelarenttrap/pseuds/smithsonianstucky
Summary: Steve is in grad school working towards his masters of fine arts and Bucky works from home as a freelance web designer. With the holidays approaching and Steve finally having free time, it really looks like this will be most wonderful time of the year.A bit of fluff for every day of Steve and Bucky's lives through the New Year.





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> Updating everyday through December, or at least trying to! 
> 
> This first one is really just helping to set up the dynamic for Steve and Bucky in this fic and get everyone established with where they are in life, sorry it's not the fluffiest nor most exciting thing ever!
> 
> For anyone who has read my other works, I will be finishing When a Heart Knows Fear! The last chapter should be up by this weekend and I cannot wait for everyone to find out how things end!

There is the unmistakable click of dog nails on wood floors as Steve digs through his backpack for his keys. There is a bark, the one Steve knows is Brooklyn since Hudson rarely vocalizes, and then he finds the key in the bottom of his bag. He slips it into the keyhole and slowly turns the knob, leg ready to block the two dogs from darting out the door to greet him.

“Back up guys, back,” Steve tells the dogs. Hurried footsteps sound and Bucky comes around the corner to the front hall to help.

Both dogs are beside themselves that Steve is home, tails wagging so fast they are a blur and bouncing their feet on the floor as they resist the urge to jump on Steve. They are only moderately well trained and Steve knows that they will both break and start actually jumping if he doesn’t give them a proper hello within the next minute or so.

“Hey Buck,” Steve greets, weaving between the dogs to press a quick kiss to Bucky's cheek. Bucky's prosthetic arm comes to wrap around Steve's waist and holds him there for a moment so that he can tilt his head and press a proper kiss to Steve's chapped lips too.

“Late night for you,” Bucky observes. As the semester has gone on, Steve has been staying longer and longer in his office at the school but tonight was a record.

“Had so much grading,” Steve tells him as he crouches to let Hudson climb onto his legs and reach his face for a few gentle licks. Brooklyn circles him, excited energy overwhelming her. “Hey sweetie,” Steve tells her, gently stroking a hand down her spine. “How are you?”

“They miss you during the day,” Bucky tells Steve. The latter knows it is a bit of a guilt trip for the fact that he stayed at the university past dinner but he quite literally had too much to do.

“Sorry Buck,” Steve says, standing and holding his arms open for Bucky. He knows it will soften the edges, and that Bucky is too tactile to hold any anger if he is being embraced.

Bucky slowly allows the embrace, stepping forward in slow motion to enter the circle of Steve’s arms. They stand in the entry way like that for several long moments, Bucky pressed into Steve’s chest, face first. The dogs pad at their feet, still excited.

With a deep inhale though, he finally pulls away. “There is pasta in the fridge for you,” Bucky informs him. “Want to watch another episode of _Twenty Four_?” They have been watching the old seasons, entertaining themselves with a show long finished.

Bucky heads for the couch, Hudson immediately hopping onto the sofa when he sees him heading the correct direction. Steve is about to remind him that they agreed the dogs shouldn’t be on the couch but then decides against it.

As Steve waits for the microwave to count to zero, he mindlessly twirls the silver band on his left ring finger around and around. Sometimes, Steve almost found himself worrying that they did not have a single wedding plan in place, but at the same time he knew that they were biding their time, waiting for the proper time in both of their careers and the proper place financially for the two of them. The wedding would come someday.

With Steve’s student loans, sometimes this seemed like it would be an impossibility however. Despite his position teaching the undergraduate painting introduction course and the two hundred level still life one, he was up to his eyeballs in debt. Sometimes, he wondered if he would ever be free of it. But a masters in the fine arts had always been his end game, and he would be damned if he did not achieve it.

“Steve?” Bucky calls suddenly, looking up from navigating Netflix on his laptop. “The microwave went off a good thirty seconds ago.”

Steve shakes himself and pulls the bowl of pasta from the microwave, moving across the kitchen and weaving past Brooklyn to get a fork. The Blue Heeler follows Steve as he goes to join Bucky on the couch. Steve settles into the cushion on the other end of the sofa as Hudson has taken the middle one. As his weight sinks down and shifted the seats, Hudson stretches his feet. The whippet presses his feet into Steve’s thigh, demanding more room, and then shuffles about so that his head is hanging off the side of the cushion.

“Werido,” Bucky murmurs, fondly watching him. They both then divert their attention to the television.

“Remind me what happened in the last episode,” Steve asks as he begins digging into the reheated pasta.

Bucky launches into a full explanation of every plot detail from the last episode, the one they had watched over a week ago now since they had mist the airing of the most recent episode. Steve is always astounded at how many details Bucky remembers and watches in awe as Bucky uses his hands to explain the passage of time through the last episode. Bucky has an amazing memory for details like this while Steve has a perfect memory for his classes and the grocery list. It is just one of the many reasons they are perfect together.

 


	2. Friday

“Buck, our ceilings are loft height but not _that_ high,” Steve interjects as Bucky suddenly branches from their path towards a Christmas tree that is easily over twenty feet tall.

“But Steeeeeve,” Bucky whines, moving to hug the tree. “It’s beautiful.”

“And it deserves a home where it’s height can live in glory,” Steve tells him.

“Those some fancy words,” Bucky replies, untangling his arms from the tree branches to follow Steve as he keeps moving through the Christmas tree farm. “You would almost think you were a university professor or something.”

“Teaching undergrad to help pay for my classes doesn’t count as ‘being a professor’” Steve reminds Bucky. It was just a deal that the university offered to grad students who had also pursued their undergraduate degree at Columbia.

“Steve, remind me how late you were grading last night.”

“Until eight,” Steve replies.

“You’re a professor then. You have an office and everything!”

Bucky has a point.

They walk for a few more minutes, searching. Bucky finally stills from flitting amongst the trees and walks beside Steve, slipping his gloved hand into Steve’s bare one and interlacing their fingers.

“So how tall are we _actually_ thinking?” Bucky asks. “Cause they are fourteen foot ceilings but getting a tree that tall up four stories will be a bitch.”

“Agreed,” Steve replies, “So I vote we get something ten or below.”

They start to search for a Christmas tree in earnest then, pacing up and down the rows to select the one that is the correct fit for them.

“What about this one?” Steve asks, pointing to one to the left of their path.

Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand to inspect the tree, circling it and then stepping back to evaluate. “Is it lopsided or is it just me?” he asks, knitting his eyebrows.

Steve takes a half step back and studies the tree. “I think it is…” he realizes, tilting his head “Yeah, now it’s straight.”

“Does that work on me too?” Bucky asks, turning to face Steve instead of the tree.

Steve quirks his head to the same angle has when he had looked at the tree. “Nope, still gay as fuck.”

“Oh good, just as I had hoped.”

“Good news for me,” Steve jokes, moving forwards to wrap Bucky in his arms and quickly press a kiss to his forehead. He releases Bucky then and knits their fingers back together to keep searching.

As they wander between the dark trees, Bucky keeps playfully bumping Steve’s hip. The contact is padded by their heavy jackets and Steve bumps him back, bouncing his momentum and they quickly end up shoving one another back and forth, a full on play wrestle only moments away.

“C’mere you,” Steve grits and snags Bucky in his arms who playfully squirms, feet scraping the ground but gaining no traction as Steve lifts him from behind and swings him around. “Which tree Buck? Which tree?” he asks again and again.

Steve stops swinging Bucky before he gets too dizzy, setting him down and then turning to offer his back. Bucky knows what he is insinuating immediately and hops onto Steve for the piggyback ride.

“On ward!” Bucky yells, hand thrust into the air with one finger protruding from his fist. He clings to Steve with his prosthetic and Steve is careful not to jostle him, knowing the grip isn’t as good as a natural one. “We must search for the perfect tree! The ideal specimen!”

“The quest continues!” Steve laughs, tightening his group around each of Bucky’s thighs and marching further down the path. “You see anything from that crows nest?”

“Are you a ship or my horse Steve?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” Steve laughs. “But you are closer to Prince Charming than Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“I don’t know, I _am_ missing a limb Steve, that’s pretty pirate like.”

Steve can still remember the days when Bucky refused to wear the prosthetic and hid his arm in baggy sweatshirt sleeves. He can still remember going home after class every day for a month of high school only to drop off his backpack to head to Bucky’s. With both his parents working so much, Steve was the one who had taken Bucky to his doctor’s appointments, the months of physical therapy following the accident.

There wasn’t a day that went by in which Steve did not curse that drunk driver. But it was heartwarming, the greatest of reliefs, to hear Bucky joke about the arm now. After years, he has accepted its presence as easily as the puppies Steve had brought home from the shelter and it was simply a part of their life.

“Land hoe!” Bucky suddenly shouted and Steve stopped, releasing Bucky’s legs from the hooks of his elbows. Bucky slid off his back and strode towards one of the trees, a thinner one with a slight tilt to the top.

“It’s not straight,” Steve points out.

“Neither are we,” Bucky reminds him.

Steve stifles his snort. “But I like how thin it is, takes up less room in the apartment.”

“And we can tuck it between the armchair and the TV stand so that the dogs hopefully don’t take it down,” Bucky points out. They have been very concerned about Brooklyn and Hudson knocking into a Christmas tree when they start playing inside.

“Do we have a keeper?” Steve asks, moving his eyes from the tree to meet Bucky’s.

“I think we do,” Bucky says. He throws a double meaning to his words when he glances down at Steve’s hand, where his engagement band lies.

 

“Delivery,” they say in unison when the woman at the register asks if they want to take their tree themselves or have it delivered. Bucky and Steve glance at one another and then high five, elated at the unison.

“And when would you like it to arrive?” she asks, a smile playing in her voice at their fun display.

“Still have any times left for tomorrow?”

They decide on eleven the next morning and they leave the Christmas tree farm hand-in-hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or comments if you enjoyed! I'd love to hear from anyone who is reading!


	3. Saturday

“Wait, wait!” Steve tells Bucky, holding up a finger to reinforce his words.

“What Steve?” he asks. Bucky is standing beside the Christmas tree, tucked into the very corner he had cited yesterday as the perfect spot for it, and has a string of lights in his hands.

“One, plug them in and make sure they still work before you put them on,” Steve tells him. “Two, we _have_ to put Christmas music on before we can start!”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Bucky says as he searches for an easily accessible wall outlet. “Do we want to play the vinyl or just plug in one of our phones?”

“Gotta kick it off with good ole Bing,” Steve decides, heading to the compartment of the TV stand where his vinyl records are lined up. He scans the spines and finds Bing Crosby’s Christmas album and pulls it from the sleeve. Behind Steve, Bucky finds an outlet and the string of lights glow to life, reflected back at Steve in the surface of the vinyl.

“They work!” Bucky sing songs, delighted. “Now, we just gotta hope the other two still do too.”

“Do you know if we have any extra bulbs if there are any burnt out?”

“I doubt it,” Bucky says just as Bing signs the first line of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” and Steve steps away from the record player.

“You ready?” Steve asks, eyeing the tree. From the sofa, Hudson warily watches their actions, not understanding what the tree is for. Brooklyn follows behind Bucky as he moves back to the tree past the boxes of ornaments, garland, and lights they pulled from the top shelf of the hall closet.

“I was _born_ ready,” Bucky replies.

 

It takes them six songs to finish the lights, the process quickened by passing the bundle back and forth rather than one person walking around the tree. They finish the Bing Crosby album before they are done with the garland and Steve turns off the record player and plugs his phone into a speaker to play his Christmas playlist.

“Want to start with Pentatonix?” Steve asks Bucky.

“Always,” he assures back as he digs through a box, in search of their star.

“Pretty sure it was in with the lights,” Steve calls as he heads to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“Hot chocolate!” Steve tells him, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Bucky supposes it is. “Spike mine!”

“I was planning on it!”

Three hot chocolates in, they realize how bad a plan it was to get drunk while setting up the Christmas tree. It doesn’t help that Steve has a tendency to make drinks strong, his muscle mass making it hard for him to get drunk in the first place. It doesn’t usually screw Bucky over quite this badly--his muscle mass is nearly the same--but something about today is extra intoxicating.

“This looks like shit,” Bucky whines as he plops into the armchair beside the tree. “What even happened to the whole ‘even spacing’ concept?”

“Everything is out the window at this point,” Steve giggles as he goes on tip toe to hook a gold bobble ornament towards the top of the three, just under the star. When he becomes flat footed again, Bucky bumps his leg with a foot. Steve turns and Bucky opens his arms, an irresistible invitation.

“Okay,” Steve says, fake exasperation in his voice. “I _guess_ we can cuddle.” He wades through the ornament wrapping spread across the floor to lay himself on top Bucky, effectively smothering his fiancé.

“Steeeve,” Bucky whines.

“This is what you wanted,” Steve says, confused, as he focuses on relaxing his muscles to become heavier dead weight.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, pushing at his shoulder with no effort. “Steve, I need to breath.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve resigns, lifting his weight off of Bucky with a hand on each chair arm. Bucky shifts beneath him to one side of the chair so that Steve can situate himself half on Bucky’s lap and half on the other side. He pulls his knees up, fully in the chair now, and tucks his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Remember when you were small?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah, it was a bitch of a time,” Steve replies.

“I think that you still think that you’re small.”

“Why?” Steve asks before he really thinks. Then he glances down at how he has rolled himself up and tucked himself into about five square feet of person. “Nevermind.”

Bucky’s prosthetic arm is the one that Steve is not pinching to the back of the chair with his body and Bucky puts the synthetic hand on Steve’s legs to help hold them in his lap.

Hudson pads over, collar tags jingling, and puts his head on the only available bit of Bucky, his left knee.

“Hey bud,” Bucky croons as Hudson wags. “Do you want cuddles too?”

“This is gonna be a bad idea,” Steve prefaces before he bends himself in half to reach Hudson and scoop the twenty five pounds of dog into his arms. Steve then relaxes back to his original spot--still pinning Bucky’s arm--and puts Hudson in his lap.

“Pretty sure we have exceeded the fire hazard capacity now.”

“Nonsense, we can probably get Brooklyn up here too,” Steve laughs. The other dog perks up at her name, ears pivoting towards the armchair before she lifts her head to look at them.

“Where Steve?” Bucky asks. “We are out of laps.”

“Well, we just have to find a larger space then, don’t we,” Steve announces, standing up suddenly and almost falling over as he struggles to hold onto Hudson and disentangle from Bucky’s arms.

“Steve! Steve—“ Bucky tries to stop him but Steve sets Hudson down and moves around the living room tipsily, pulling the dog’s beds to the middle between the TV stand and the coffee table. He then proceeds to take every pillow off of the sofa and add them to the floor.

Bucky stands, helping Steve rearrange. He knows Steve is too stubborn to give up on his grand idea so he might as well help.

“Okay pups,” Steve says, pointing to the massive layer of cushioning that has gathered in the center of the living room. They follow his gesture and leap onto the heap, curling up together and looking expectantly at their owners.

Bucky lowers himself to the floor and crawls into the make shift bed. Steve reaches for the fleece blanket on the back of the sofa and tosses it over Bucky before moving to the side of the room.

“What are you—“ Bucky begins to ask but his question is answered as Steve flips off the ceiling light. The room is now lit only by the glow of the Christmas tree and Bucky turns to look at it.

Steve settles onto the pillows and dog beds beside Bucky, positioning himself to lay in a crescent around Hudson and Brooklyn. “It’s a bit magical,” he murmurs, also gazing at the tree.

“I can literally feel myself filling with holiday spirit,” Bucky replies. “We did a damn good tree.”

“Hell yeah we did,” Steve replies automatically. He snakes a hand around under Bucky’s blanket to find his hip and shift him closer. Where the dogs lay between them, Brooklyn shift to put her head on Bucky’s side and use it as a pillow.

“They think can tell when we have been drinking?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s eyebrows knit together in thought. “I think they can tell that we are different somehow.”

“Well you’re always a little… _different_ ,” Bucky teases.

“Hey, be nice now,” Steve pouts, giving Bucky his best kicked puppy impression.

Bucky looks back at the tree to avoid the guilt trip. “We should get a train to go under the tree,” Bucky suddenly says. “It would be whimsical.”

“Well you’re definitely… _whimsical_ ,” Steve replies.

“I thought we were being nice!” Bucky barks.

“I couldn’t resist.”

They lapse into silence, gazing at tree together. In just a few minutes, they will decide to watch a Christmas movie and settle on _Home Alone_. And if the dogs get kicked to one side of the floor bed so that Bucky and Steve can spoon and kiss and pay little attention to the film, well no one but the dogs will have to know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and/or comments if you enjoyed this day!
> 
> Come talk to me on[ tumblr ](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com) :)


	4. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday!

“It’s fucking freezing,” Bucky complains, burrowing his head further into the hood of his winter jacket.

“Agreed, but I like it,” Steve tells him and Bucky just glares. They have always had very different opinions about temperature and it has led to many inconsequential arguments over the years.

“We are almost there,” Steve reminds Bucky, pointing ahead to where the lights can be seen a block down. They stand out in the darkness, the sun having set two hours ago. Steve hates how early it gets dark in the winter.

He jolts as Brooklyn pulls at the leash, edging towards a lamppost.

“Did an attractive doggy pee there?” Bucky jokes as Steve is forced to stop and wait for her to sniff the pole. Hudson begins pulling him to sniff it too.

“The most attractive dog,” Steve decides as they both snuffle into the small clump of snow nestled around the base of the lamppost.

“C’mon guys,” Bucky coaxes and the dogs pull away to follow as he picks their pace back up.

“Why are our dogs so cute?” Steve asks rhetorically, looking down at beautiful Brooklyn with her merle fur and Hudson in his Orvis jacket. It is corduroy on top and fake fur inside to keep his thin frame warm in the snow. Hudson also has small boots on his feet, as he gets cold toes and then refuses to walk sometimes.

“Because we picked them,” Bucky tells Steve. “Well, _you_ picked them.” It is true: Steve had brought both of them home without asking Bucky, first Brooklyn when one of his peers in class had told him about the puppy his neighbor had found the previous night and how she needed a home. Hudson was second, ten months later when Steve had seen a Facebook post shared by one of his friends who had a cousin moving to Europe because of a job transfer. She had owned Hudson for a year and a half but had unexpectedly been transferred and needed a new home for him. He had come to live with them the very next day.

“Didn’t even pick, just rescued,” Steve amends.

“And we can’t get anymore,” Bucky reminds. He has taken to doing this now, reminding Steve that no more dogs can unexpectedly be brought home like groceries. Their landlord reminds them daily that they are only fifteen pounds away from the limit in their apartment with Hudson and Brooklyn’s combined weight.

“Not unless it’s tiny.”

“Steve, _no_.”

“Steve YES.”

“Steve!”

“Just teasing Buck.”

They stop at the edge of the park then, gazing across long space at all the decorated trees. Every color of the rainbow is present, from classic red, white, and green to blue, orange, purple, and even hot pink.

“There are more trees this year,” Bucky remarks as they enter the park, passing beneath the iron archway.

“Definitely,” Steve agrees.

They wander around the park for close to an hour, weaving between the trees to gaze upon the multitude of glistening lights. Over the speakers on the light poles, Christmas music is softly filtered throughout the space. Some of the trees have been decorated by the local business, mostly family owned ones. A few are from nearby schools and a few are even from nonprofit organizations in the city. Steve pays particular attention to these, and leaves some bills in the metal donation boxes sat beside the signs.

“Look at this one!” Bucky calls to Steve. They are a few trees apart as Steve had stopped to read the mission statement on the sign before a tree decorated by a local organic café.

Steve hurries over, Brooklyn padding behind on her leash.

“They decorated the trees with the kid’s letters to Santa.” Bucky reaches forwards to gently touch the nearest one, tilting it towards the nearest bulb on the tree to read the scratchy writing. “Dear Santa,” he reads, “I would pretty please want a red bike. With big boy tires and a bell!”

Steve reaches for the one directly in front of him. “Dear Santa Clause, for Christmas I want legos! I like the Batman and farm ones best. Please have them early so I can build with grandpa.”

“That’s adorable,” Bucky says. “God I miss legos.”

“Never too old for legos,” Steve tells him, letting the Christmas letter fall back to the tree.

“No, but they’re expensive as hell,” Bucky reminds Steve.

“You’re definitely not wrong there.”

They continue to wander through the trees and read the signage before each one. Bucky is thoroughly enchanted by one that has pink, purple, and blue lights. The floral shop near their house decorated it.

“Do you think they know that they recreated the bi flag?” he asks Steve, tucking himself to Steve’s side. Hudson sniffs the low branches of the tree and sneezes.

“Don’t know, but I’ll hope,” Steve replies. “I got your birthday flowers there so I hope so.”

“We should get a poinsettia from them.”

“Aren’t those poisonous to dogs?” Steve asks.

“We will research, and if they aren’t we should get a poinsettia from them,” Bucky amends his statement.

They eventually make their way back around to the arch through which they entered the park. Glancing up, Steve spots something.

“Buck, above you.”

Bucky tilts his head back, hood falling off his head, and spots the mistletoe too. “Sly motherfuckers,” he laughs as he then tilts his head to the side to look at Steve.

When Steve smiles, he turns his whole body and Steve steps forwards into Bucky’s space to peck him on his cold lips.

“That’s all?” Bucky pouts when Steve pulls back.

“I’m just teasing,” Steve smiles. Then he leans back in, slipping his hands around Bucky’s back to pull him closer and press themselves flush together. Bucky’s lips are quickly warmed, moving with Steve’s in a deep, languid kiss.

Steve’s breath is warm on Bucky’s cheek as he breathes through his nose. Bucky breaks the kiss when Steve starts breathing a bit hard. “Stevie,” he teases, moving to press a quick kiss to Steve’s jaw.

“Bucky,” Steve replies in the same tone, tightening his grip around Bucky’s back. At their feet, Brooklyn whines.

They stare at one another for a moment and Bucky leans forwards, not breaking the contact, to gently brush his nose against Steve’s in a sweet Eskimo kiss. He closes his eyes, reveling in Steve’s proximity. After all these years, he is still intoxicated by Steve’s presence.

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, nudging Bucky’s head to tilt and drawing his lips close to Bucky’s again.

Bucky closes the distance and they kiss again, somewhat more intensely as they meld together. Steve smiles into the kiss and Bucky’s heart flutters in his chest.

They jump apart when a car alarm down the block goes off, startling both of them.

“Jesus,” Steve swears, retracting his arms from around Bucky to put one to his chest. “Don’t need defibrillators when you’ve got car horns.”

“C’mon,” Bucky says, grabbing Steve’s hand that doesn’t have the dog leash in his prosthetic one. He still put a glove on it, for a semblance of normality.

“Go get warm?” Steve asks.

“Go get warm,” Bucky affirms.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Poinsettias ARE toxic to both dogs and cats! Be careful with your critters!
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts and if you enjoyed! See you back here tomorrow!


	5. Monday

“That was the longest Monday of my goddamn life,” Bucky says as he finally turns away from his desk in the nook off the living space. It is technically supposed to be for a dining room table but Bucky and Steve always sit on the sofa or sit at the stools along the kitchen counter. It had become Bucky’s office since he worked his freelance web design from home.

Steve is on the sofa, laptop on his knees, as he finishes entering the grades from his introductory figure drawing course. If he can finish entering their grades tonight, then the only thing to worry about for the rest of the week is grading their final illustrations on Wednesday after class, grading the still life paintings for his intro painting course, and finishing his own portfolio for his graduate level still landscapes course. And if everything went to plan then by Friday he is free for the break!

“What happened?” When Steve had gotten home, slightly earlier than usual since he only had to enter the grades into the university’s grade system and could do that from the sofa, Bucky had both headphones in while on a call with one of the companies he worked for. He was a freelance web designer, hired by two companies out of college undergrad and continuing to grow his career year-by-year. Now, he was in demand by the local businesses and even a few companies across seas.

From this end of the call, Steve could not glean any information but the tone of Bucky’s begrudging noises of affirmation and “Okay, okay” had not sounded good.

“Halliburton’s decide to change the shade of green for the company so they wanted me to edit the entire site by midnight. I told them no, because I have a goddamn life even if I am freelance, and they gave me a short list of which pages they actually want changed first so I can prioritize. So I have to do fucking all of those tomorrow I guess.” The last sentence is just a groan as Bucky spins his desk chair, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

“C’mere,” Steve says, patting the couch cushion beside him and moving his laptop from his knees and to the end table.

Bucky stands from his desk chair, two pairs of dog eyes following him and plops onto the sofa beside Steve and then flops to the side to put his head in Steve’s lap. Instinctually, Steve begins to run his fingers through Bucky’s eyes, scraping at his scalp. The long sigh that releases from between Bucky’s lips is what Steve had hoped for.

Seeing so much interaction on the couch, Brooklyn stands from her bed on the far side of the coffee table and jumps onto the sofa by Bucky’s feet, using his ankles as parameters to curl herself inside.

“Foot warmer,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s thigh.

Steve simply continues to part Bucky’s hair with his fingers, silky strands running over them. It is so absentminded that when he finds a knot it is almost startling.

Bucky’s breath evens out, until he sounds as though he is asleep. Steve knows that if he falls asleep now, before they’d even had dinner, that he will be up all night. Late naps did not work for Bucky; they had learned that when they were in undergrad.

“Buck, we should eat,” Steve reminds him, gently shaking his shoulder.

“Les get take out,” Bucky mumbles.

“And watch a movie?” Steve asks, knowing he is right. It is the only thing Bucky really likes after a long day.

“And watch a movie,” Bucky confirms. His voice is stronger, so he has woken up some.

“Chinese? Pizza?”

“Chinese. From the place down the street.”

Steve grabs his phone from the side table and dials the number programmed in. They never order Chinese from anywhere else.

“Can I place an order for delivery?” Following that, Steve rattles of their usual: a large side of fried rice, one carton of broccoli chicken, one carton of Kung Pao chicken, four egg rolls, and a side of pot stickers. He is surprised they don’t have the order memorized now that Steve and Bucky have lived here for a year and a half.

When Steve hangs up, he tells Bucky that it will be twenty minutes.

“What are we watching?” Bucky asks.

“Let’s look through Netflix,” Steve suggests, grabbing his computer again from beside him.

Bucky immediately suggests that they look through the action movies. “No dramas or love or shit tonight.”

“Wow, glad we are not down for any love,” Steve quips, removing his arm from where it had been resting over Bucky’s side and holding him close.

“You know what I mean,” Bucky grumbles and snatches Steve arm and places it back where it was.

“What if we watch old episodes of Stark Trek?” Steve asks as he scrolls down the page. “Action but also comedy because special effects.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but nods against Steve’s leg.

By the time they have decided what to watch however, the food is due any minute. “Let’s wait for our food so we aren’t interrupted,” Steve tells Bucky. “Plus we need to feed the dogs anyways.”

Both canines react to the phrase, jumping to their feet.

While Steve makes food for Hudson and Brooklyn, Bucky arranges the living room to their liking for such a night. The comforter from their bed is removed and brought in, as well as some extra pillows. He grabs plates and silverware from the cabinets and lays them on the coffee table so they can dish out portions for themselves.

When the delivery boy buzzes from downstairs, Bucky practically runs to the button at the door to let him in. The dogs dance by the door, excited because Bucky is, and wait with him for the food to arrive upstairs.

Steve manages to get leashes on Hudson and Brooklyn just as a knock sounds. Bucky quickly pays the delivery boy and takes the bag of food to the coffee table as Steve follows the boy out with the dogs to let them relieve themselves outside.

As usual, Hudson pees on the bush right outside the apartment building doors like he has been holding it for hours. Steve always walks them right when he gets home but he thinks that if Hudson could talk, he would tell them that he always has to pee.

Today, Steve is wearing a sweater and hadn’t brought a jacket down. Within two minutes he immensely regrets this. He bounces on the balls of his feet and clenches his shoulders as he tries to keep warm.

“Faster guys,” he murmurs under his breath, but of course the dogs do not understand. Brooklyn pulls him towards the curb to sniff at a car tire and he pulls her away before she decides that the owner’s Brook Stones are a fire hydrant.

“Brookie, not there,” he chastises and takes them farther down the block, where there are more trees in the planters breaking up the sidewalk.

By the time Steve is pushing back through the apartment door, unclipping the dog’s leashes so they can rush to the coffee table and hope that Bucky won’t notice them snuffling the food, he is freezing.

“Noticed you didn’t take a jacket,” Bucky says as he meets Steve in the doorway with one of the fleece blankets they keep in a basket beside the end table.

“I just hope I don’t get sick,” Steve whines. “I can’t afford to not be focused on my painting right now.”

Bucky hands off the blanket for Steve to burrito himself in and then hurries back to the sofa to keep Brooklyn from stealing an egg roll. “Go lay down,” he instructs her and she sulks over to her bed and circles before lying down. She looks at him sullenly from beneath her lashes, begging, but this is one rule where Bucky will always put his foot down. He likes his food too much.

Steve settles onto the sofa beside Bucky, who takes half the duvet from the bed and tucks it around Steve’s shoulders over the fleece blanket.

“Buck, I don’t have hypothermia,” Steve reproaches as Bucky tucks the duvet around him so that he doesn’t have to hold it on his shoulders as he eats.

“I know but the last thing I want is you sick on Christmas. Remember 2013?”

Steve groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“I mean, as much as Christmas with the ER nurses was fun, I am not hoping for a repeat,” Bucky teases. As he talks, he is dishing the takeout onto plates for both of them and then hands Steve his. Once they’re fully ready, Bucky plugs Steve’s laptop into the HDMI cord protruding from the back of the TV and hits play on a random episode of _Star Trek_.

“Baby come back,” Steve sings playfully as Bucky heads back to the couch and flops down beside Steve. He tucks himself into the other side of the duvet and picks up his plate of food.

“I’m ready.”

They finish their food during the first episode and fall asleep during the second. Bucky wakes when Hudson pokes his flesh hand with his wet nose, a silent plea to be taken outside again. With a groan, Bucky gets up and leashes both the dogs, donning a jacket after Steve’s earlier mistake.

When he comes back upstairs, he gently shakes Steve awake and guides his sleepy form to stumble to the bedroom where he flops onto the mattress and curls up on his side. Bucky returns with the comforter and pillows, tucking on under Steve’s head, and then climbs in himself to spoon his fiancé.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My tumblr ](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)


	6. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter super-art-student-Steve

“The canvases have multiplied,” Bucky says, shocked, from the doorway. Steve whips around, surprised, as the silence is broken.

“Didn’t hear you arrive,” Steve says as he puts his hand over his heart. He had been so far into his painting zone that he thinks a door closing in the hallway would have startled him though.

“Thought you might want some coffee,” Bucky says, lifting one of the paper cups in his hands. “You’ve been in your office so much in the last few weeks.”

It is true, Steve has been staying incredibly late in his office and leaving the apartment earlier than usual for over a week now. If he can finish his painting for his graduate portfolio, then he can just buckle down into grading his undergrad class’s pieces for the rest of the week. And then they are on break and he can breath again.

“Thank you Buck,” Steve says as Bucky weaves his way to where Steve is seated on a stool by the window. Before him is a canvas large enough to use as a headboard, the shapes of his subject slowly arriving on the page. It is further from being finished than he would like at this point.

“It looks good,” Bucky tells him, following Steve’s gaze to the painting. “When is it due again?”

“Friday,” Steve reminds him. The painting has been stressing Steve out a ton and has been discussed often between the two of them.

“What are your students up to?” Bucky asks, peering around the office. He knows from experience that one of the piles of canvases leaning against Steve’s desk will be the projects he assigned his class.

“The ones on the right,” Steve tells him, standing from his stool to move towards them. “The assignment was a still life but I didn’t want to do fruit so we painted modern props.”

Bucky carefully tilts the first canvas away from the desk to look at the painting on the far side. It is a pile of cellphones, stacked and slanted across the tabletop. The next one is the same, but from the angle this student had, they could also see a pair of headphones mixed into the pile.

“There are really good,” Bucky tells Steve, slowly flipping between the rest of the paintings in the stack. He knows not to talk about Steve’s own painting by the window anymore than the comment he already made. Steve hates when people see his unfinished work and it’s a privilege only allowed to Bucky.

“I’m proud of them,” Steve says. He stops Bucky at the second to last one. “This one was by my favorite student.”

“Tsk tsk,” Bucky scolds him. “You shouldn’t be picking favorites.”

“Can’t help it,” Steve murmurs. “She just puts in so much more effort than the others. She actually cares.”

Bucky continues to poke around Steve’s office then, eyeing the painting against the filing cabinet. He knows it is the one Steve finished in October and it is Bucky’s favorite painting that Steve has ever done.

“Stevie,” he begins, and Steve knows something is up when he pulls the nickname out of nowhere. “Can we hang this one in the apartment?” Bucky touches the corner to indicate which painting he means and Steve’s face scrunches.

“Buck…” he reproaches, a groan in his voice. “Why do you like that one so much?”

“Because it’s beautiful,” Bucky replies simply, tilting it away from the cabinet so that he can see the front of the canvas. It is undeniably beautiful, an abstract work with slashes of white and black across a baby blue background. It is aggressive, volatile even, but still somehow calm because of the color scheme. Bucky adores it.

What Bucky doesn’t know is what Steve’s inspiration was for the painting. October fourteenth was the seven-year anniversary of Bucky’s accident and Steve had locked himself in one of the university art rooms for hours to paint away his anger at the memories. He knew Bucky had moved past it (despite the part where he would have a prosthetic arm for the rest of his life) but somehow Steve still hadn’t.

“No it’s not Bucky, it’s violent.”

“But that’s why it is so intriguing.”

“Drop it Buck.”

He did then, letting the painting settle back against the cabinet. “Stevie,” he said, wading past a folded easel on the floor, “Steve c’mere.”

Steve grudgingly took a step towards Bucky and let him be enveloped in his arms, the prosthetic hard even through the sweater he wore.

“Is this the one I got you for Christmas last year?” Bucky asks, tugging lightly on the back of the sweater as Steve hugs him back.

“Of course,” Steve says, pressing his face to the side of Bucky’s head and breathing in the scent of his hair.

“Get your lips over here,” Bucky says, turning his head towards Steve. They both loosen their arms to allow the movement to bring their lips to one another’s. It’s chaste and sweet and Steve finds himself happy that Bucky decided to come by when Steve had not yet arrived home.

When Bucky breaks the kiss, he strokes his thumb over Steve’s cheek lovingly and then pulls back. “Okay, too gooey,” he announces. “Now drink your coffee before it gets cold and get back to work.”

Steve smiles, pressing a last kiss to Bucky’s nose and then turning back to his easel. “Thank you Bucky. Keep fixing those shades of green.”

“Halliburton’s can suck my ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [ my tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)!


	7. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More tooth decay

Light filters through the blinds, shedding bars of light across the bed as the sun rises. Steve slowly wakes, light poking at his eyes through his closed lids, and turns his head to nestle back into the covers.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. Steve’s eyes flutter open to find Bucky’s face across from his on the pillow, eyelashes soft and a small smile playing on his lips.

“What time is it?” Steve croaks, disentangling his hands from the sheets to rub at his right eye.

“A little after nine,” Bucky tells him. Steve doesn’t have class on Wednesdays until noon and spoils himself with sleeping in. Bucky decides to join him sometimes, like today.

Steve grunts in response to the time, closing his eyes momentarily before gathering his courage to leave the bed.

“Nope,” Bucky chirps, shuffling himself closer across the mattress and laying himself half on top of Steve. He uses his one hand to move Steve’s arms and nestle himself against Steve’s chest, slotting their legs beneath the comforter.

“Buuuuuck,” Steve whines. “I have to get up.”

“You’re my captive,” Bucky murmurs back, only it sounds more like “Yur meh cabtev.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries again, but he denies his own words as he presses his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck and breathes in his warm, comforting scent. He always smells like cedar and soap, a result of the toiletries he uses in the shower, and it feels more like home to Steve than any house or apartment ever will.

Gently, Bucky’s fingers doodle against Steve’s chest. They tickle gently as he draws spirals aimlessly, eyes closed, and holds Steve close.

Steve’s breath slowly evens, calmed by the patterns. Bucky’s warmth is relaxing, easing Steve back into sleep… Steve jerks himself awake, catching his conscious mind before it passes out again. Bucky is jerked awake too, feeling Steve’s body jump.

“Bucky, this is dangerous territory,” Steve warns. “I _will_ go back to sleep.”

“Do it,” Bucky murmurs, little strength behind his words as he rests with his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I dare you.”

“Little shit,” Steve murmurs back, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s temple in the sweet affection.

“I’m not little,” Bucky reproaches. “Just because you are a body builder—“

Steve tilts Bucky’s head and kisses him to shut him up, slowly moving their lips together. He doesn’t deepen it, as they both hate morning breath. When he pulls away, he swears he can hear Bucky whimper.

“Okay, I have to get up now,” Steve tells him. “Hudson is probably at the door with his legs crossed.”

Steve disentangles himself from Bucky, his body pliant with sleep and holding little strength. It is only once he is up from the bed and that Bucky springs to life, suddenly gripping Steve’s bicep and using his body weight to pull him back down onto the mattress.

“Sneak attack!” Bucky sings, wrapping himself fully around Steve and pulling Steve into his chest. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Bucky,” Steve warns, but there is no real threat in his voice. Instinctually, his hand moves up and down Bucky’s arm, a comforting gesture. His breath is warm on Bucky’s chest as he shifts to his side, cradling Steve against him still.

“We are staying like this,” Bucky tells him. “And it will be nice, and warm, and lovely.”

Steve turns and presses his lips to Bucky’s chest. “No we aren’t.”

Bucky’s arms tighten around Steve. “Yeah we are.”

“I love you.” It slips from Steve’s lips as easily as breathing and Bucky hums in response, the vibrations reverberating through Steve’s too. Then Bucky disentangles, releasing Steve from his arms only to slide down and press his lips to Steve’s collarbone.. Across his it, up the side of his neck to his ear, then back down his jawline. Each one is feather light, like the ghostly brush of someone’s fingers hovering over skin.

Steve sighs when Bucky finally reaches his mouth, kissing him long and sweet. “I love you too,” he murmurs against Steve’s lips.

Steve waits another twenty minutes before getting up, unable to find it within himself to be quite as persistent about starting his day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life source is attention on my fics so...pls


	8. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve likes Christmas music and Christmas movies too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more "Avengers as Family" than "Domestic" but it exists so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“We’ll take one of the Holiday Beer Buckets,” Tony orders for the table, “And also a large order of the nachos, mozzarella sticks, and the onion dip.”

“I’ll put that in for you right away,” the waiter responds, quickly writing down the order and then disappearing back towards the kitchen.

“So remind me,” says Clint as soon as they renew the conversation, “how much is the prize money tonight?”

“Two hundred, which is why we are here,” Sam reminds him.

“Tony, I am counting on you,” Steve says, eyeing the other man. “You gotta pull through.”

“This is _Christmas_ trivia Rogers, I did not major in Christmas!” As he talks, the puffy bit on the end of his Santa hat wobbles, the comical nature of his garb at odds with the words.

“No, you just majored got four degrees so you know _nothing_ and don’t have _any_ memory for facts,” Clint teases.

Their beers arrive and the appetizers follow soon after. The Holiday Beer Bucket turns out to be a collection of winter themed beers from a brewery in Milwaukee consisting of a ginger brew, the “snow” ale, and the Terry’s Orange Lager. Sam hands them out from his end of the table like an auctioneer as the friends each avoid the flavor they are the most unsure about. Their appetizers arrive ten minutes later, and Bucky casually slides mozzarella sticks closer to Steve without anyone noticing. Steve knew he loves this man for a reason.

Soon thereafter, the trivia starts. The first category is “Movies” and Steve knows he is ready for this. From two seats down, Bucky’s head swivels, knowing Steve will have _all_ the answers.

“What beverage did they drink on The Polar Express?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Steve, we haven’t even watched _The Polar Express_ this year!”

“Well then we should!”

The second question is “What is the name of Rudolph’s dog sled driver?”

It only takes Steve twenty seconds to remember before he is writing down the answer. Yukon Cornelius.

Steve answers all but one of the movie questions, Pepper filling in the one he does not know. The next category is “International Christmas”.

“Got this,” says Natasha. She grew up in Russia and did exchange semesters during school in what seems like half of Europe.

Surprisingly, it is Bruce that answers the first question. “What country traditionally hangs a pickle on the Christmas tree?”

“That’s Germany!” he says, sounding surprised that he even knew it.

However, Natasha _does_ know which country created eggnog (it’s England).

By the time they get to the questions on “Basic AF Christmas” they are all a little tipsy. They spend a good two minutes discussing how many points are traditionally on a snowflake and still get it wrong, then get far too excited over naming all eight reindeer.

The real kicker is when they get to “Religion”. There is a beat of silence at the table in which they realize that _none_ of them actively practice religion enough that if the questions are discrete they are _screwed_.

Pepper pulls through. She answers correctly what all three of the Wise Men brought baby Jesus and then looks around the table to gather her street cred and bragging rights. “Four years of Catholic school, bitches.”

The restaurant saved “Music” for last as they undoubtedly knew how wild it would get. There is a rambunctious amount of singing, a large portion of which is supplied by their table, and answers being shouted left and right.

“What is the Christmas song with the most sales of all time?”

“Has to be Jingle Bells,” Tony tries.

“No, definitely White Christmas. It was out first,” Bruce says.

“How do you even know that?” Clint asks, astounded.

“I agree that it is probably White Christmas,” Steve pitches in.

White Christmas is the correct answer. Bruce and Steve stand side by side and serenade the table with the slow ballad. Bucky turns bright red.

The next question is “What was Brenda Lee doing around the Christmas tree?”

“Who is Brenda Lee?” Clint asks.

Bucky responds “You’re useless,” while watching Steve as he sings the lyrics to himself to find what the answer is.

“You wouldn’t be useful except that you’re a package deal with Steve,” Clint jokes.

“She was rocking!” Steve interjects. “She was rocking around the Christmas tree.”

The final question about “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” causes everyone in the whole establishment to start singing. Majority are at the same level as their table or worse, and it is a wonderful sight. Steve, out of his chair and singing to the restaurant large, slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulls him into his side. The notes are off key but they are having fun.

The staff work on totaling the tables’ answers while the singing carries on. The patrons have carried their voices through “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” and “Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer” before the totals are done and they can announce the winner. Their table grudgingly takes their seats.

“The winner is… X-Men!” A group of eclectic individuals rise from a table on the other side of the building to receive their prize money.

Their table deflates, upset that they did not win. “Next round is on me,” Sam offers.

They stay through two more rounds of holiday beer buckets and Christmas songs played through actual speakers. Then, Bucky and Steve finally say their goodbyes and head home.

They walk hand-in-hand the six blocks to their apartment, Steve singing Christmas songs under his breath to Bucky the whole way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments if you have thoughts! I'll see you tomorrow!
> 
>  
> 
> [ my tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)


	9. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, enjoy

Steve’s last Friday class is at 3 o’clock and then he finally gets to head home. It’s the beginning of break and he can’t help playing the Michael Buble album loudly on his way home, singing along. He might get a weird look at a stoplight, but it doesn’t matter.

The dogs must hear Steve before he even puts his key in the door, as he can hear them whining on the other side as he approaches. It is amazing how they can recognize the sounds of their owners so easily. “Hey puppies!” Steve teases them as he digs out his key. Then he finally finds it and slots it into the hole to swing the door open. He sets down his backpack immediately, mindful of the laptop inside, to crouch and pet the two of them. Hudson practically wags his entire body in excitement.

“Steve!” Bucky calls from his desk nook, leaning back in his chair to see around the nook’s wall and to the front door. “Finally done?”

“Yup, turned in my portfolio for the last course, officially done with assignments and on break.”

“I just have a bit more work, and then we’ll make dinner and celebrate, yeah?”

“Sounds good!” Steve wanders towards Bucky, standing behind him at the desk and resting his head on the crown of Bucky’s. “Looks boring.”

“Kind of is,” Bucky admits as he types coding. “’Tis the boring part of web design.”

“I am going to walk the dogs.”

“Okay.”

Steve does, taking them around the block for a pee break before coming back up to the apartment with cold hands and ears. Bucky is in the kitchen, filling a glass of water at the sink when he does. He sidles up behind Bucky to slip his cold fingers beneath the hem of his sweater.

Bucky makes a noise in reproach, somewhere between a shout and a noise of mock pain. “Steve!” he yells, hastily jumping to the side and out of reach. “Why—“

“Is that my sweater?” Steve asks.

Bucky blushes now, looking down and fingering the knit top. “Um…maybe…found it in the dresser…”

“I think it’s my sweater,” Steve addresses, taking a step toward Bucky.

“Nah, we have so many that look alike, ya know?”

“It’s my sweater. You like wearing my clothes.”

“Do not.”

“Do to.”

“Do not.” Steve is fully in Bucky’s personal space again now, and he tilts forwards to gently press his nose to Bucky’s: a gentle Eskimo kiss.

“Do too,” Steve whispers. He then tilts his head and kisses Bucky full on the mouth, warming his own cold ones with Bucky’s own. And then he sticks his cold fingers up the bottom of Bucky’s shirt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live off of comments (this is not a guilt trip but it's a guilt trip)


	10. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who loves dogs as much as I do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is 30 minutes into Sunday for me, but imma make this count as Saturday because I refuse to give up yet on posting every single day

“You ready Hudson?” Bucky asks as he crouches to unhook Hudson’s leash from his collar. The whippet shivers with excitement, knowing where they are. “Okay!” Bucky tells him as soon as it is off and Hudson takes off into the dog park, immediately heading for a shepherd mix to say hi and sniff one another.

Brooklyn bolts past soon after, Steve having released her from her leash too. She does not run to join the other dogs, but begins to run a perimeter of the park, sniffing along the base of the fence where other dogs have relieved themselves. She does a full investigation before returning to Steve and looking at him expectantly.

“What do you want?” he jokingly asks her, pulling the drawstring backpack off one shoulder to uncinch the top and pull out a clean, new tennis ball. Brooklyn’s tail goes a mile a minute. “Is that what you want?”

Bucky settles to lean against a tree near Steve as he winds up and throws the tennis ball as far as he can without it going over the fence. Brooklyn takes off, digging gouges into the inch of snow on the ground and throwing a quick spray behind her like powdered sugar. She is fast, one of the fastest dogs at the park besides Hudson, and reaches the tennis ball before it has bounced twice.

“Bring it back!” Steve reminds her, cupping his hands around his mouth to make sure that she is heard. She spins to face them, the ball tightly clenched in her mouth, and then races back. For now, she looks well trained but Bucky knows that when she gets tired, she will just drop the ball wherever she stands and pad off to find Hudson, not matter how many times they call her.

Steve takes the ball from Brooklyn as soon as she arrives back at his feet and heaves it across the park again. One of Bucky’s favorite simple things is watching Steve play fetch with Brooklyn. It had been a pleasant surprise that she basically already knew how when they adopted her, and now it was the routine when they came to the dog park. Granted, they were only able to come all the way out here once or twice a week once the weather got colder (the dog park closed too if any snow had turned to ice) but it was the silver lining to long days and a calm activity for his mind to watch. It didn’t help that Steve still moved like an athlete, even if he didn’t workout nearly as much he did in college. It was such a fluid motion for him to throw that sometimes Bucky found himself transfixed.

Brooklyn is sprinting back again when Hudson comes to join. He follows her all the way back to Steve’s feet, pacing happily. When Steve next throws the ball, both dogs take off. Hudson is faster than Brooklyn, seeing as he is essentially a miniature greyhound, and beats her to the ball. Hudson does not fetch however, and instead spins and waits for Brooklyn to grab the tennis ball and then he nips at her chin, playfully teasing her and asking for the toy. She refuses, turning her head this way and that to keep the ball out of his reach as she makes her way back to Steve.

“I’ll hold the troublemaker,” Bucky promises as they return. He shrugs away from the tree to bend and grip Hudson’s collar. He whines in dismay as he realizes he will not be able to partake in his fun, even if it means ruining Brooklyn’s.

“You’re on timeout,” Bucky tells him. It is short lived however as Steve throws the ball again. Hudson tries to take off to follow it despite Bucky’s grip and his sudden dart unbalances Bucky as he crouches in the snow. With a small yelp, he tilts to the side and lands on his hip and shoulder in the powder. Hudson takes off into the dog park, excited about his freedom.

“Buck!” Steve says.

“I’m fine,” he laughs, knowing he was silly to think he would have enough traction in the snow to hold onto Hudson. “Just wet now.”

Steve offers a hand to Bucky who gratefully takes it with his flesh one and lets Steve lever him to back to his feet. Only, things go wrong _again_ as Steve slips when Bucky’s full weight pulls against him and he too tumbles into the snow, landing heavily.

“Fuck,” he gasps, the breath knocked out of him. “We are some clumsy idiots.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Hey!”

Suddenly they are tussling, playful shoves and sharp noises being exchanged. Bucky has half a mind to shove snow down Steve’s jacket, but settles instead for knocking him over when he tries to right himself. Steve retaliates by grabbing Bucky’s arms to pin them to his sides. The hold is good, until Bucky leans forwards and presses his lips to Steve’s, effectively loosening his grip.

They only break apart their lips when Brooklyn returns with the tennis ball, Hudson following behind.


	11. Sunday

Bucky wakes to the sound of Steve shifting in the bed, a rustle of sheets and old bed springs. Bucky turns, eyes blinking open to find the shape of his fiancé as he sits on the edge of the bed and rubs his eyes.

“Good morning,” Bucky murmurs, snuggling further under the covers.

“Morning, love,” Steve sighs back, reaching behind him to run a hand gently up and down Bucky’s side before standing and heading to the bathroom.

“Want to shower?” he asks.

Bucky snuggles his head further into the pillow. “I’ll go second.”

“Wow, you’re passing up a shared shower for twenty more minutes of sleep. I am _offended_.”

“It’s Sunday Stevie, sleep is important on Sundays.”

“You got me there.” He disappears into the bathroom, the sound of the bath tap being turned on shortly following and then the quiet noise of Steve whistling a tune to himself.

Bucky loves mornings like this, the simplicity of listening to Steve get ready for the day while they have nowhere to be. Bucky knows he should walk the dogs while Steve showers, that even if they are still asleep in their beds they will need to pee soon, but his spot beneath the comforter is warm enough to hold him hostage for a few more minutes.

It takes Hudson getting up from his round bed beside the dresser and staring at Bucky by the bedroom door for him to groan and finally sit up. He feels slightly unbalanced, his prosthetic arm missing since he can’t sleep with it on, and takes a moment to get his bearings before reaching for it on the nightstand and beginning to strap it on.

It’s always difficult with only one hand, but he manages. He is struggling with the last strap and doesn’t hear the sound of the water turning off or the bathroom door. It startles him when Steve’s voice speaks from beside him.

“Let me,” he says, and then his shower-warm fingers quickly fasten the last strap, letting Bucky relax and stretch the fingers of the prosthetic.

“Thanks babe,” Bucky says, giving Steve a quick peck in thanks. “I’m going to walk the dogs.”

“Want me to come too?”

“Your hair will freeze,” Bucky says as answer. When he leaves the bedroom, Hudson and Brooklyn follow. At the door they dance in excitement, nails clicking on the wood floors as Bucky plucks the leashes off of the hook.

“Calm down, stop moving,” he laughs as he attempts to hook the clips onto their collars. He is nearly pushed over when Brooklyn puts a paw on his knee as he crouches.

Finally, they get out the door and down to the first floor. Bucky pushes out into the cold, letting the dogs pull ahead as he uses his prosthetic hand to pull his hat over his ears more tightly.

There is snow in the air, just flurries that nip at exposed skin. It adds to the couple inches still on the ground, just covering the brown of the plowed snow and making the sidewalks slick.

It only takes one walk around the block for both dogs to have done their business and Bucky gratefully heads back up to the apartment.

When they arrive back inside, Steve calls the dogs from the kitchen. They both skid down the hall to the larger space, leaving Bucky to calmly remove his gloves, hat, coat, and boots.

“Coffee?” Steve immediately asks when Bucky appears in the kitchen. The pot is already done brewing and it looks like Steve is making pancakes (if the box of Bisquick and carton of eggs on the counter are any indication).

“Shower and then coffee,” Bucky says with a smile and heads to the bedroom and adjoining bath. He showers quickly, a learned trait when the lack of his prosthetic feels alien, and comes back out to the kitchen in a loose hoodie and his comfiest sweatpants that Steve had bought him for his birthday. There is a cup of coffee on the counter corner nearest the bedroom and Bucky gratefully wraps his hands around it as Steve tends to the stove.

Bucky shuffles around the kitchen island to stand behind Steve. “Whatcha making?” Bucky asks as he slips an arm around Steve, resting his cheek between Steve’s shoulder blades. He is tall enough to put his head on Steve’s shoulder, they only have a two inch height difference, but this is warmer.

“Pancakes and bacon and heavenly goodness,” Steve answers. He leans back into Bucky, enjoying the contact and Bucky stays there, gently sipping his coffee occasionally as he feels Steve moving to flip the pancakes and turn the bacon. It is silly and perfect.

“Okay, it’s done,” Steve eventually tells Bucky. He pulls back to see the bacon browned in a pan and a sufficiently sized pile of pancakes on a plate beside the stove.

“But what are you going to eat?” Bucky jokes. Steve pushes him gently with a shoulder.

They load their plates and then settle onto the couch. Hudson and Brooklyn follow their every step, the smell of the bacon horribly enticing to them.

They turn on the morning news as they eat, watching updates on a Christmas performance at the Symphony Center last night and hear about the forecast for the day. When the news report ends, Steve switches the channel to where reruns of _The Amazing Race_ are playing. It looks like there will be an all day marathon of the last season.

“This okay?” Steve asks as he reaches to the coffee table to set the remote back down and grab his orange juice glass.

“Yup,” Bucky replies. He has finished eating so he leans back, tucking his legs onto the cushion beside him and pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa. Steve pats his leg, the movement looking almost instinctual rather than conscious, and Bucky extends his legs to put his socked feet in Steve’s lap.

By the second episode of rerun, they are sprawled across the sofa together with little hope of getting up for hours. It is indicative of most of their Sundays together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are, as always, much appreciated!


	12. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what this is but it's been a long day and all I've done is watch Halo walkthroughs and write a fifteen page paper.

It was after dinner that Bucky settled onto one end of the couch and Steve the other. Steve has a blanket over his legs, to ward off the winter chill that seeps through his pajama pants. Bucky will forever tease him about putting on pajama pants at seven pm, but Steve can care less so long as he is comfy and warm.

They are both in their own worlds, Steve sketching lazily on a pad propped against his knees. His laptop on the coffee table is zoomed in on a picture of Hudson and is drawing his eyes, trying to capture the life held in them. Bucky on the other hand has a book in his lap, a copy of _The Martian_. Steve is pretty sure it’s the second or third time that Bucky has read it. Both dogs are on the floor, settled into their beds comfortably. They had gone out shortly after they ate their dinner and won’t need to go again until bedtime.

The apartment is quiet, just the sound of the heat and the occasional bump from the upstairs neighbors. Steve lit a candle on the coffee table, a “Fresh Snow” scent, whatever that means. It is clean and not too powerful and that is all Steve cares about.

Half an hour later, both their legs have extended and are tangled on the middle cushion. Bucky is gently bouncing one foot as he reads, the socked ball of his foot brushing Steve’s leg beneath the blanket. It catches his attention and the drawing slowly becomes forgotten as Steve begins bumping him back. It takes Bucky a few minutes to notice.

“Hey, what’s that for?”

“Nuttin’,” Steve teases, bumping Bucky’s foot again with his calf. Bucky bounces his foot off of Steve’s leg and then moves his own to tangle the both of their limbs even more.

“Stop it,” he pretends to whine.

Steve tries to detangle their legs but Bucky moves from his end of the sofa to crowd Steve’s space and wrangle his arms too, a full-blown wrestle happening on the couch now. With the amount of times that Steve and Bucky get into fake tussles like this, Steve half expects the dogs to be rolling their eyes.

Somehow, they end up flat on the couch together, Steve’s arm pinned above his head by Bucky’s and their legs slotted as Bucky supports himself overtop of Steve.

They just kind of stare at one another for a moment, knowing what happens next. Steve can already feel the ghost of Bucky’s lips on his. And then Bucky folds down and rests his head on Steve’s chest.

“I sleep.”

“Bucky, no. What?”

“Sleep.”

“Fuck off Bucky, not now.”

“Sleep.”

Steve sighs in defeat, weighed down by Bucky’s body completely covering his and thinks that at least he is warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read _The Martian_ this is your cue to, it's amazing  
> [my tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)


	13. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the ideas I have had in my dead since thinking of Domestic December back in October, it's silly but I love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time it has come up so far, but Steve and Bucky in this story live in Chicago. I have never been to New York, so I really didn't feel writing so much about that city so I set it in my wonderful home city :)
> 
> Sorry this is a day late, yesterday was a busy day as I wrote most of my fifteen page paper for a comm class and it was also the night before reading day aka the day of the biggest parties of the year at my school so I went _hard_ last night.

“Don’t forget the plastic bags,” Steve reminds Bucky as he pulls on his gloves. “And I’ll bring my wallet in case we want to get coffee or anything.”

Beside him, Bucky wraps a scarf around his neck and then takes his coat off the hook by the front door to the apartment. Both dogs dance around their feet, knowing they will be leaving on a walk soon. Steve had already hooked their leashes on, so that one of them didn’t have to fumble with the clips after putting on their gloves.

As Bucky pulls on his jacket, Steve stoops to grab the dogs’ leashes and then opens the door of the apartment. Bucky follows behind as they take the stairs down and out the front door before Steve passes Hudson’s leash to Bucky.

Outside, there is a light snowfall occurring. This is their reasoning for taking the walk now, as it is so magical to be outside in the flurries.

“We are inside a snow globe,” Steve remarks.

“Imagine if Chicago was really just a snow globe on someone’s shelf in another dimension,” Bucky says.

“It would definitely be one of the tourist ones with the little city inside that you get at an airport shop,” Steve adds. They then spend a moment deciding which way to take their walk and deciding to head closer to the lakefront rather than further into the city.

“I forgot a hat!” Steve realizes two blocks down, his ears slowly reddening as they become colder. “How did I forget a hat?”

“Because you were too busy reminding me to put on mine,” Bucky laughs. “Here.” He hands Hudson’s leash to Steve then and moves behind him. Steve doesn’t know what he is doing and his lips begin to form a question, but then Bucky puts his gloved hands over Steve’s ears, covering the cold skin from the chill air.

“Better?” Bucky asks.

“So much,” Steve says. He laughs to himself as he thinks about how ridiculous they must look but he doesn’t care.

“We will just walk like this then,” Bucky decides. “You got both dogs okay?”

They head off again then, walking haphazardly down the sidewalk, two dogs in the lead with Steve following and Bucky walking directly behind and shielding Steve’s ears from the snow. Every other step, laughter rings from the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual chapter for today will be up in a few more hours! Sorry to have the hiccups like this, once finals are over for me it should be smooth sailing as far as chapters going up every day.


	14. Wednesday

“I hate having a bad immune system,” Steve complains. He is burritoed on the sofa in a long fleece blanket with his socked toes peaking from the end. On the coffee table is a box of tissues and cough drops. Beside them is the empty bowl of soup from his dinner.

“I know, Stevie,” Bucky consoles as he comes around the sofa with a mug of tea. He hands it to Steve before lifting his feet and replacing them into his own lap as he settles onto the furthest couch cushion.

“Like a human really shouldn’t be able to get a cold from just going outside without a hat.”

“Maybe mother nature just really wants you to wear your fucking hat.”

Bucky would be dead if looks could kill.

“What do you want to watch?” Bucky asks as a topic change. Steve has the remote for navigating what they have saved on the cable box. He starts scrolling as Bucky asks. Most of their recordings are Christmas movies. Steve has a tendency to record any of the ones playing in the 25 Days of Christmas that they don’t own.

“I haven’t seen _Miracle on 34 th Street_ in year,” Bucky remarks as they pass title after title.

“I think I am feeling more of _It’s A Wonderful Life_ right now,” Steve says, stopping on the movie.

“Let’s do it then.” Steve selects the film and they are subjected to the credits from the movie that had played previously before _It’s A Wonderful Life_ starts.

Steve falls asleep about two thirds of the way through with his head titled back at an awkward angle from how it fell in his exhaustion. Bucky rearranges them on the sofa so that Steve is sitting more comfortably, sliding himself in beside Steve to cradle him against his torso. Hudson takes advantage of the mostly open cushion at Steve’s feet and hops onto the sofa. Bucky watches him circle three times before settling down, half on top of Steve’s feet.

“Silly boy,” Bucky tells him, and Hudson’s tail thumps against the couch cushion.

Steve wakes as the credits are rolling and immediately disentangles himself from Bucky and the blanket to grab a tissue from the box. He aggressively blows his nose before leaning against the couch back and sighing. “I hate being sick.”

“I know babe,” Bucky tells him, reaching to smooth his hair back from his forehead.

Bucky cleans up the living room then as Steve heads to the bedroom to shower before bed. When Bucky had suggested it to help clear out his sinuses, he had practically jumped off the sofa.

Bucky is just getting back from walking the dogs for their last pee when the water stops. After unclipping the dogs’ leashes, he gets down two mugs in the kitchen and makes them both more tea, peppermint this time, and takes them into the bedroom.

There, Steve has put on pajamas and is peeling back the blankets. On the side table is the book he has currently been reading, _Born to Run_. After Bucky sets down the mugs of tea, he moves to wrap himself around Steve from behind. It earns him a pleased sigh from his fiancé and they just stand for a moment with Bucky wrapped around Steve comfortingly.

“Lemme grab my book, I think it’s in the living room, and then we can get all snuggled up and tucked in,” Bucky murmurs into the back of Steve’s neck. He presses a quick kiss to his soap-scented skin and then heads back out into the apartment.

_The Martian_ is on the side table in the living room and Bucky tucks it under his arm. He also unplugs the Christmas tree from the wall while he is there, sad to see the lights blink off.

The dogs both follow Bucky as he heads back into the bedroom and he points at their beds, a silent command, before Brooklyn can get a bright idea and hop onto the human bed.

Steve is already tucked under the covers and Bucky changes into his pajamas to join him. He moves to lean against the headboard and then Steve scoots across to rest his head on Bucky’s thigh and prop his book sideways on his knee to read. Steve almost always reads lying down and Bucky has always found it amusing. He has to fully sit up to reach his tea and take sips, but it doesn’t seem like he minds so long as he gets to be close to Bucky.

Steve doesn’t last long however, his eyelids wilting and then the book dropping closed on his hand. Bucky just lovingly pets his hair and then turns off the bedside lamp and goes to sleep too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what to do


	15. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little short, but also a little sweet

Steve had been in the zone with this painting, tucked into a corner of the bedroom with his dilapidated easel and a canvas nearly as wide as his wingspan. When Bucky had asked if he would be coming to get drinks with him, Natasha, Clint, and Sam, it had been a no brainer for Steve to decline. There was also the added factor of his health, which despite the cold having cleared up around mid morning, wasn’t going to be aided by consuming alcohol.

His paint brush drags back and forth across the rough canvas, outlining the curve of a lake. He wants to paint the cabin Bucky and him had rented one midterm break in undergrad, or at least as much as he can remember of it. It had been in upstate New York, just a simple place advertised online. The two of them, along with Clint, Natasha, Sam, Tony, and Pepper had caravanned to it with cases of beer and value six bottles enjoy their long weekend. The place was a plethora of nostalgic memories that Steve wished to capture.

Now, he is jolted from his tempera trance by the shrill ring of his phone. Steve nearly drops his paintbrush on the ground, fumbling with it for a moment before setting it on his palette and hurriedly digging into the pocket of his flannel for the ringing device.

Bucky’s name is on the screen and Steve quickly swipes across it to answer. “Hey, everything okay?”

The noise in the background makes it hard to hear Bucky as he utters a greeting. Steve thinks he can hear Clint’s voice teasing Natasha.

“Steve, you know what?”

“What Bucky?”

“There is something I don’t tell you enough.”

After just the quick exchange, Steve can tell Bucky is _hammered_. “And what is that Buck?” Steve asks, a smile tickling his cheeks and leaking into his voice.

“I love you, Stevie,” Bucky says and his voice is so earnest that Steve feels his throat get thick.

Swallowing down the lump that has formed, Steve speaks again. “I think that became kind of clear when you proposed.”

“But Steve, I just need to make sure you always know.”

“Bucky, who is that?” It’s Sam’s voice that carries through the phone to Steve.

“Ten bucks says it’s Steve,” Natasha crows in the background. “Tell him to come!”

“How much have you guys _had?_ ” Steve asks, surprised to hear Natasha sounding so loose. “It’s a _Thursday_.”

“ _Thirsty_ Thursday,” Bucky corrects.

“Am I going to need to pick you up?” Steve asks. Bucky had walked there, they were only about a mile away from the bar that was Sam and Clint’s favorite, but he doesn’t want Bucky walking home.

“We are going to call an uber,” Bucky assures him. “Tooooootally safe.”

“Okay babe.”

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky mumbles.

“I love you, Buck.”

“Tell the dogs I miss them.”

“Okay.”

“I miss you too.”

“I know Buck, I’ll be here when you get home.”

“Can’t wait to see you, darling.”

That was a new one. In the background, he thinks he hears someone snort up their drink. “Be safe.”

There is a long moment where Steve can’t tell if Bucky is going to hang up or not, if this is the end of the conversation. Then the line clicks and Steve is left to stare at the giant canvas, wondering when Bucky is going to be home.

  



	16. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone likes Hozier

There was something intoxicating about a concert, a high everyone was riding together as the anticipation for the first note built amongst the audience. And when those first notes hit, there is a moment of silence to follow and then an explosion of excitement.

Bucky and Steve are packed into the crowd, standing room only, at the Riviera Theater. The opener had exited the stage to thunderous applause almost half an hour ago now and Hozier is to come on at any moment. There had been movement around the edges of the stage, possibly the musicians and back up vocalists getting ready, but no sign yet of the longhaired, indie singer.

“Any minute,” Bucky murmurs to Steve, leaning into his side. They both have had a few beers, thankfully able to take an Uber home after the concert. The tickets for tonight are an early birthday present for Steve from Bucky and it was an amazing surprise when Bucky had plopped them onto the kitchen table this morning over coffee.

“There!” Steve calls, pointing as the bassist and drummer enter the stage, giving the audience little waves. Then, the back up vocalists come out. There are three of them, beautiful women in black dresses. “Any minute.”

“Don’t pass out on me,” Bucky jokes.

“I’m not making any promises.”

The instruments start before Hozier himself has stepped onto the stage.

“Shit, shit, here we go,” Steve yells as the long and lanky Hozier takes three strides to the microphone swiftly to begin the lyrics to _From Eden_. Bucky thinks there are actual stars in Steve’s eyes.

By the end of the first song, the crowd has shifted and bumped enough that Steve is settled behind Bucky, thankfully able to see over his head. This leads to an easy arm slipped around Bucky’s waist to hold him close and move them together in rhythm to the music.

As Hozier transitions from _Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene_ into _Jackie and Wilson,_ the crowd goes crazy and Bucky can feel Steve jumping slightly in excitement. Bucky peaks over his shoulder to see Steve’s face, the pure glee there more satisfying to him than listening to music itself. When the chorus hits, Steve hugs Bucky tight to his chest to the line “She’s gonna save me, call me baby, run her hands through my hair.” Bucky leans back into him, so happy, and relaxes into the feelings of the song. The transition into the bridge is full of the back up vocalists and it sounds like they have ascended into heaven.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Steve says into Bucky’s ear. Bucky just nods to convey that he feels the same. The notes are amazing, other worldly in fact.

When _Like Real People Do_ starts, Bucky and Steve hurriedly make eye contact. This song had been everything to them when the album released. They had listened to it driving together at night constantly, or sharing headphones while walking the dogs. It was _everything_ because it was about simply showing your love despite hate and other’s opinions. It was about living your love like a normal person—in their case a person in a heterosexual relationship. After struggling their way through undergrad together, it was the perfect anthem and now, it still affected them both terribly. They sway their way through the song, Steve’s arms still wrapped around Bucky from behind. Hozier is in black and white, the lights above him changing, with his guitar strap across his shoulders, swaying in front of the microphone to keep rhythm. They reach the final chorus and Bucky leans back to press his sweet lips onto Steve’s lips and kiss like real people do.

Tonally, everything changes then as the piano kicks in and Hozier launches into the first deep words of _Take Me to Church_. The crowd, of course, goes crazy for the radio hit. Bucky and Steve both sing along as Hozier belts into the microphone the first “take me to church” of the first chorus.

By the end of the concert, they both feel like they are in a haze. They exit the venue slowly, Bucky leading Steve by the hand, and break out to the Chicago street. Outside the Riviera Theater on the snowy sidewalk, Steve and Bucky kiss for a long minute. Another concertgoer passing by whistles. They break apart eventually to only then notice that it is snowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you can't tell, I have seen Hozier in concert and _adored_ it! I know he is not on tour right now but I really thought it was the kind of music this Steve would love, as well as a really lovely Christmas present from Bucky. Yes, his back up vocalists actually do sound like sirens of Greek mythology or angels, they're absolutely insanely talented and so, so beautiful! The lighting during his concerts is awesome too, I'll put a pictures on my blog [here](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com/hozierpics) if anyone is interested in seeing how it looks!


	17. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell it snowed a shit ton in Chicago in the last few days? We were transformed into a winter wonderland! Sorry for how late this is, I made a post on tumblr explaining why there wasn't a chapter yesterday but basically I traveled home and it took a while with the snow and then my parents made me go see our family friends so I ran short on time yesterday. The actual chapter for today will be up later (it might be late tonight because I am going to see _Rogue One_ later).

When Steve wakes in the morning, he discovers that the snow had carried on all night. He carefully untucks himself from beside Bucky’s still sleeping form to peek through the blinds, like a kid hoping for a snow day. The street has been plowed but not recently enough, a dusting still lying on the pavement. Along the sidewalk, there is a significant pile of snow and an employee of the apartment complex is shoveling a path down the sidewalk. Leaning against the building behind him is a bag of sidewalk salt.

“Buck,” Steve whispers, climbing back into bed to snuggle against Bucky’s side and disturb him. “Bucky!”

“Wuh?” Bucky mumbles, adjusting to nestle further into the pillows.

“There is snow!”

“Are you five?”

“Yes.”

“Five year olds need more sleep.”

Steve quietly snorts a laugh out his nose, shifting to lie on his stomach. Behind him, he hears the jingle of a collar as one of the dogs stands from their bed. There is a jostle of the mattress as the dog chooses to join them on the human bed.

“Hudson?” Steve mumbles into the pillow. “Brooklyn?” A cold nose shuffles beneath the sheets and presses into his leg. “Thanks so much.” The dog settles and Steve finds himself lapsing back into sleep too easily to check which it is.

They both wake around half an hour later when Hudson paws at the door.

“I got it,” Steve tells Bucky. It’s always easier for him to take the dogs out in a morning emergency since Bucky needs to put on his arm.

“Thanks, Stevie.” The reply is muffled by Bucky’s arm over his face.

When Steve returns from the walk with Hudson and Brooklyn, cheeks and nose red like a Christmas song, Bucky is showered and digging through the kitchen cabinets.

“What are you feeling for breakfast?” he asks when Steve turns the corner into the kitchen. “We have that healthy shit for home made oatmeal.”

“That doesn’t feel like recovery food enough for the amount we drank last night to be honest,” Steve says as he comes to stand beside Bucky. “Eggs?”

“You’re cooking them,” Bucky warns. He has never been good at cooking eggs of any kind. They are always just a bit too overdone.

“Of course,” is Steve’s reply. They settle on toast, shitty microwaveable bacon, and fried eggs.

They eat breakfast on the sofa, as per usual, with the morning news on. Both their feet tangle in the middle cushion, plates in their laps. It seems that the lake effect caused even more snow than predicted and the road crews are not prepared.

“About half the sidewalks weren’t shoveled yet,” Steve tells Bucky as he shovels egg onto his fork. He makes a face as he looks up to see Bucky sopping up his extra yolk with his toast. Steve has never been a fan of the taste of it.

“Dogs are going to have fun next time we go to the park though,” Bucky points out. “Brooklyn loves snow.” The cattle dog perks up when she hears her name, ears swiveling where she lies in her bed on the far side of the coffee table.

After breakfast, they clean up the kitchen. Steve washes and Bucky dries as they methodically take care of the dishes and then they return to the couch out of habit.

“They’re recommending people don’t drive anywhere,” Bucky reads from his phone, feet tucked beneath him and Hudson in his lap snoring. “Apparently any East/West roads are experiencing a ton of blowing snow.”

“Well, it’s supposed to snow more, isn’t it?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, going to start again in a few hours.”

Steve glances behind Bucky to large windows across the wall. “Looks like it might be coming a little early.”

Sure enough, white flakes are drifting past the window again. “Is that just it blowing off the roof?”

“Could be.”

Within an hour, it has picked up. Steve stands at the window, coffee mug in hand, and watches as the whiteout happens. There is something magical about freshly falling snow that Steve’s inner child never surpassed. Behind him, Bucky is in the armchair beside the Christmas tree. Usually, they only plug it an after the sun has gone down, for maximum Christmas light effects, but today it is already in the wall outlet.

“Because why not,” Bucky had murmured as he tucked himself behind the back branches to reach the outlet.

“Road crew is going to have a hell of a time,” Steve murmurs as he gazes out the window.

“Stop worrying about it and c’mere,” Bucky demands. Steve immediately spins and moves to lean over the back of the armchair. He tucks his head into the crook between Bucky’s shoulder and neck and nuzzles.

“Gimme a kiss,” Bucky asks, and Steve obliges his needy fiancé. They end up spending the better part of an hour languidly kissing in the living room, tucked into the singular armchair together beside the tree despite the existence of an entire sofa. Their lips feel numb and their hearts are singing by the time they break apart. Steve’s coffee is long cold, but he doesn’t mind.

They lapse into the afternoon and Steve sets up an easel in the corner of the living room. The worst thing about their apartment is the lack of space for Steve’s art materials. He is always finding a corner of a room that is not as cramped as the others and it is never a permanent fixture. The good thing about his teaching gig with the university is that he gets an office that he simply doubles as a studio to avoid the lack of space at home.

As he props up a small, fresh canvas he glances at Bucky. His fiancé is at his computer, playing some desktop game with headphones in. He figures he is safe to paint, that Bucky will be too enthralled with the game to really pay attention to Steve’s work until it is done. He doesn’t plan to spend long on this, just practice some techniques he is still troubled by.

Bucky does notice however. As Steve gets into his painting trance, Bucky glances across the room to check on the dogs and of course spots Steve and his easel. Unbeknownst to Steve, Bucky watches him paint. There is a tranquil blanket over the entire apartment now as Steve fully enters his artist mode and Bucky is lulled to a state of mind numbness by watching the painting unfold. As more paint is applied to the canvas, Bucky realizes what Steve is painting. It is a human torso but Bucky would recognize the scars from his car accident anywhere. Steve is painting the contours of his torso from memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what to do.  
> Stalk me on [tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com) if you want


	18. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know very little about snowboarding, but I do watch [ Ben Brown's vlogs ](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCAkP51BEzkKimJh7KDflx_g)and he snowboards a lot so I'm going with it

“Are you sure they’ll be fine with Sam?”

“Steve, for the last time, Sam has known both dogs since the day we got them and they love him. What is wrong with him watching them for the day?”

“I don’t know, I’m just worried. I have a weird feeling.”

“Well it’s too late now, we crossed the Wisconsin border a quarter mile back.”

Steve falls silent then and simply focuses on driving instead. They are headed to the Lake Geneva lodge in Wisconsin to utilize their ski hill. They really only snowboard once a year (they used to go more in undergrad, but that was when winter break meant no responsibilities) and today is the day. With the large snowfall across the Midwest yesterday, they know the conditions will be good.

Bucky reaches forwards and turns up the music. They have Steve’s phone plugged in and he is streaming his own Christmas playlist. Michael Buble serenades _White Christmas_ through the Subaru’s speakers, as per usual this time of year.

The music doesn’t stop until Steve pulls the car into the parking lot at the ski hill. Sadly, on the way in the Christmas lights along the curving drive had not been lit but they know they will be when they leave today.

Bucky is the first one out of the car as Steve spends a moment pulling on his hat and gloves after putting it in park. When he steps onto the slushy pavement, Bucky has already opened the back hatch of the Outback and is pulling out their snowboards.

“Lemme,” Steve says, grabbing one so they can each haul theirs out. With their boards under their arms, they grab the rest of their gear and head towards the lodge. There is a fee they hand over for using the hill and the lift before they are finally able to head to the hill. They stop for a moment to put on their gear, fastening and slipping everything on but their boards.

Steve looks at the now blue-goggle-tinted Bucky. The goggles looking back are orange and he can see his own reflection in the lens. They always remind Steve of a dragonfly he saw once on the National Geographic channel.

“Ready Buck?” he asks. Bucky nods and they step outside. At the bottom of the hill before the ski lift, they finally fasten their boards to their boots.

They spend the ride up marveling at the jumps some of the young snowboarders and skiers are performing on the hill.

“How does the younger generation even afford to come to a hill this nice?” Steve marvels.

“Trust fund babies?” Bucky suggests.

At the top of the hill, they check the fastenings on their boards and then slide side-by-side to the crest of the hill.

“Let’s go!” Bucky jeers as he pushes off, bending his knees to begin his ride. Steve follows after, weaving in Bucky’s tracks as he shifts his weight to gain momentum and keep up.

Steve will never get over how Bucky still snowboards as well as when he had two organic arms. There had been a time after the accident when his balance was so interrupted that he couldn’t board at all, but in a matter of years he had back the ability for performance in the snow.

They are both self taught and had learned from friends in college how to pull tricks off of jumps while boarding. Now, Bucky heads straight for one of the makeshift ramps, not waiting any time on a warm up run.

Steve follows behind, dreading the fact that he is personally more likely to wipe out than land any sort of agile trick. Bucky, of course, goes over fine and even performs a board grab. Steve hits the bottom of the ramp several moments after Bucky lands and is propelled into the air himself. He doesn’t try anything, just focuses on landing his board balanced on the snow.

After that, it is a matter of weaving their way down the hill past wiped out skiers and snowboarders and making the most fun they can. Steve follows as Bucky slants towards the edge of the run, closer to the trees. It takes them off the main path and away from anyone falling on their butts as they slide down.

By the third run, Steve has his boarding rhythm back too. They take more jumps, even side-by-side once, and land simple tricks. The boarding then becomes a game of weaving around one another while racing to the bottom. They tease one another, faking pushes or cutting one another off but never actually causing the other to wipe out.

At lunchtime, they remove themselves from the hill to head into the bar off of the slopes. There, they order warm food and beers.

“Are we going to be able to board straight after this?” Steve asks as he sips from his second beer, an empty plate with the remnants of a pot roast on the table in front of him.

“We will see,” Bucky replies. “We will be warmer for sure though.”

They take back to the slopes, playfully weaving down the hill and hitting the jumps. They spend a solid ten minutes during one run skidding across the snow on the width of their boards and leaving thin horizontal lines on the snow as they creep down the hill. They end the ridiculous moment by Bucky shoving Steve over, unbalancing him to land in the powder and bark laughter.

The real climax is when they get into a mock snowball fight at the bottom of the hill after an overly fun run. Steve lets himself slide to a stop and plop onto the ground against the fence between the hill and the parking lot. Bucky slides up beside him, accidentally sending a spray of snow powder Steve’s way.

“Buck!” he complains as he raises a gloved hand to wipe snow from his face. He cranes his head back to look at Bucky standing beside him.

“Whoops.”

Steve gathers snow in his glove-bulked hands and casually tosses it at Bucky in retaliation. Bucky throws him an aghast look, jokingly _appalled_ that Steve would think to do such a thing. Steve throws another pathetic snowball.

Before they know it, they have unbuckled their boards from their feet and are haphazardly lobbing snowballs at one another. Steve ducks Bucky’s as he forms his next missile and lobs it in Bucky’s direction.

They don’t stop until a middle aged woman voices her disdain. “Can’t you two take your ridiculous behavior somewhere else?”

Bucky and Steve look to her, and then back at each another before bursting into laughter. It feels rude as she has just made the comment towards them but they can’t be bothered with her preferences for the activities on the slopes when they are tipsy and having fun. Bucky tosses the half formed snowball in his hands at Steve before going back to his board by the fence and hefting it into his arms.

“Calling it a day?” Steve asks.

“Think so,” Bucky replies. “But maybe we should get some hot chocolates first.” He inclines his head to suggest going back into the bar.

“Or a beer,” Steve suggests.

“You can have another beer, but then _I_ am driving.”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve agrees as he picks up his board too. Then he grabs Bucky’s hand and leads him back towards the lodge’s bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I actually need to put anything here at this point?


	19. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer for this chapter: I am no vet, but this medical knowledge is accurate to the best of my abilities as someone who has worked with animals for years and has multiple family members working in veterinary medicine

Bucky is in the mall with three shopping bags full of Christmas presents on his arm when his phone rings. Three people in his vicinity glance his way or and one lady checks her pockets, thinking it is her own phone. Bucky quickly resituates everything in his arms to pat his coat pockets and find his cellphone.

It’s Steve. “Hey babe,” Bucky greets. “Sorry, but I’m not telling you what I am buying you.”

“Buck, Hudson got a hold of a Reese’s Cup and we need to go to the vet now,” Steve says, only he doesn’t take pauses between words and it takes Bucky a moment to disentangle the syllables and figure out what Steve is saying. His voice sounds panicked and the volume keeps changing like he is trying to talk while turning his head, probably to keep an eye on Hudson.

“Holy shit, I’ll be home with the car ASAP,” Bucky promises, doing a one hundred eighty degree turn for the parking lot. “Should be maybe twenty minutes.”

Immediately, Bucky tries to think of alternatives for Steve but their friends that live closer don’t have cars (they themselves only have one since a car is nearly pointless in the city). And walking will take Steve longer than waiting for Bucky, and the real feel temperature at the moment is negative fifteen degrees so it would be the harshest of walks.

Bucky doubles his pace as the parking lot doors come into sight and pushes through to dodge past an aging man in between him and the stairwell in the parking garage. He has two flights of stairs to take two at a time before striding across the aisle to the Outback and digging through his pocket for the keys.

Once he has it unlocked, he flings the bags into shotgun and jams the key into the ignition. The drive home is wracking for Bucky’s nerves as he tries to weave through the holiday shopping traffic without getting hit. He cuts off a few drivers closer than he wanted and he thankfully makes it back to the apartment complex in one piece.

He calls Steve from the curb. “I’m downstairs,” he tells him without greeting.

“On our way down,” Steve says quickly before hanging up.

Bucky hurriedly moves his mall bags from the passenger seat into the back, more or less tossing them over his shoulder. He is glad he bought nothing breakable.

Steve appears in the door with Hudson a moment later and Bucky is thankful to see that Hudson seems fine for now. He is walking on the leash and Bucky is momentarily struck by the sharp pang of heartache. What if this is it for Hudson? What would they do? What would Brooklyn think of Hudson doesn’t come home?

“Let’s go,” Steve says before he is even buckled. He has Hudson in his lap, holding him close with one arm.

“Does he seem okay?” Bucky asks as he does a shoulder check before pulling away from the curb. “He seems okay.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how long it will take for him to metabolize the chocolate.”

“How did he get a hold of it?”

“I dropped one while walking from the kitchen to the sofa.” Without even looking at his face, Bucky can tell that Steve is highly upset and definitely blaming himself. “Darted and grabbed it before I could even begin to reach for it.”

“I’m sure he will be fine,” Bucky lies, for Steve’s sake.

It is a short but tense ride to the vet. Thankfully, the clinic does evening appointments so their doors will still be open until seven. They have twenty minutes and Steve called ahead so they know to expect Hudson. Bucky is focused on the road and he is pretty sure Steve is just focused on not panicking.

They pull into the lot and Bucky parks crooked. Steve’s seatbelt clicks open and retracts before Bucky has put the car in park. Hudson is still in his arms as he rounds the car, waits a beat for Bucky to step out, and then they head through the door together.

The receptionist knows them, the vet has a pretty small client base and they have been coming here for over a year now, and nods to them as they come in. “Dr. Mendez will be with you guys in just a moment, I’ll have you go in exam room two.”

“Thank you,” Bucky responds as Steve beelines for the door to the room with Hudson in his arms. He follows quickly after.

They wait only two minutes for a vet tech to come in with Hudson’s file and begin taking his vitals. The veterinarian comes into the room under a minute later. This is much of the reason that they like their vet: it’s a family owned clinic and they treat every client and patient like they are family themselves.

“So Hudson ate some chocolate?” The doctor asks.

“A Reese’s Cup,” Steve informs him.

“How long ago now?”

“Around forty minutes.”

“Any signs of labored breathing?” They both shake their heads. “And has he vomited at all?” Again they both shake their heads.

The doctor finishes taking Hudson’s vitals and then leans against the counter behind him and fixes his gaze on them across the exam table.

“I think Hudson is going to be just fine. There is little enough chocolate in a Reese’s Cup because of the peanut butter that he should metabolize it just fine. If he was showing any signs of feeling ill, I would have induced vomiting but it isn’t necessary for him. Keep a close eye on him tonight and take him to the emergency clinic if he seems lethargic or vomits.”

When Steve exhales, it sounds like he has been holding his breath for the entire time the have been in the exam room. Bucky reaches over and rubs his back comfortingly. “Thanks Dr. Mendez,” Bucky says for the both of them. “It really means a lot.”

“Sorry we waste your time,” Steve laughs, relief evident in his voice.

“No, no, always come if there is an emergency. I would always rather spend a few minutes with a client than have something bad happen to a family member.” Dr. Mendez strokes Hudson’s head as he speaks, showing him affection.

“It really means a lot,” Bucky says, not realizing for a moment that he has repeated himself.

“Anytime,” Dr. Mendez responds. “Now, please excuse me. I have someone waiting in the other room.”

“Of course, thank you. Have a nice night,” Bucky rambles.

“Happy holidays!”

In the waiting room, the receptionist waves them off. “No charge, Hudson was fine and it was barely time out of the doctor’s schedule.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks. Steve is beside him hugging Hudson to his chest.

“Of course, there is no charge at all!”

Bucky and Steve thank her and head back to the parking lot. It is not even 7:30 but Bucky thinks he could sleep right now.

“I think my hands are still shaking,” Steve observes as he settles into the passenger seat. Bucky turns the key and the engine sounds. Cold air blasts from the vents and Bucky hurriedly turns the fan level off.

“He’ll be fine, Steve,” Bucky assures.

“But we need to keep an eye on him,” Steve reminds. “I am going to set an alarm for every hour or so tonight.”

Bucky nods as he turns to look over his shoulder and back the car out of the spot. “And tomorrow, when everything is fine, we will take both dogs to the park.”

Steve strokes Hudson’s fur from the crown of his head to his hips and hums in response. Hudson is just confused on what has happened. Why have they come to the vet but it was stress free?

When they get home, they spend an inordinate amount of time fawning over Hudson. A near death scare will do that to someone. They make sure he drinks some water, as that can only help, and then pile both of them and the dogs onto the sofa. It is a giant cuddle fest with a tangle of legs and dogs on the middle cushion. Brooklyn just seems happy to be involved, as she had shunned them for a few minutes upon coming home. She didn’t like when she thought they were having fun with Hudson without her. Little does she know where they went.

Steve and Bucky retire to the bedroom at the same time, Steve turning the alarms on his phone to every hour.

“Sorry if I wake you when I get up,” Steve tells Bucky as they ready for bed. Hudson is lying on the bed between them as Bucky strips to just his boxers to sleep and Steve clicks around on his phone.

“Don’t apologize,” Bucky says. “I’ll just be happy when he is completely in the clear.”

Steve smiles and leans across the bed to silently beg a kiss from Bucky. He gives in easily and kisses his fiancé quickly but sweetly.

“Good night Steve, good night Hudson, good night Brooklyn,” Bucky says as he pulls his legs onto the bed and tucks himself beneath the sheets and comforter.

“Good night Bucky,” Steve replies, his humored exasperation evident.

“I love you,” Bucky murmurs as he nestles into his pillow.

Steve leans across and presses a kiss to Bucky’s exposed shoulder. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My tumblr ](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)


	20. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready to visit your dentist? I already have my appointment booked.
> 
> (okay but I legitimately do have a dentist appointment tomorrow so I couldn't resist this joke)

There is the gentle shuffling of socked feet on the floor and the creak of the wood as someone shifts their weight on the planks. Steve somehow ignores it despite the quiet of the apartment. Instead, he is singularly focused on the painting he had started on Saturday. Bucky's toned torso is on the canvas, slowly becoming shaded to perfection with an array of colors from Steve's pallet.

"Steve, why are you still awake?" Bucky asks.

Steve jumps. Bucky would be clearly in his line of vision if he had not been bent forwards, actively engaged with the painting to such a degree that even his peripheral vision is of the canvas. "Bucky, you scared me," Steve wheezes, a hand to his chest as he moves his face away from the painting. 

Bucky doesn't point out to Steve that he has just left several mauve finger prints on his black t-shirt. "Babe, it's almost two in the morning." The "go to sleep" is implied with Bucky's tone of voice.

Steve seems dumbfounded by this fact. "But I'm painting."

"Yeah, and it is two in the morning and I am telling you that you should go to sleep."

Steve's eyes flicked between the painting and his fiance. Bucky is only wearing flannel pajama pants and socks, no shirt. The situation seems to have oddly boiled down to Steve picking either his tempura representation of Bucky or the very flesh and blood that inspired the painting. Steve's hand with the paintbrush is still poised with the bristles just above the canvas, on pause. 

"Steve, it will still be here tomorrow," Bucky reminds him. "C'mon." He steps further into the living room from the short hallway and Steve's paintbrush lowers away from the canvas a few inches. "Stevie," Bucky complains, coming to Steve's side and gently resting his cheek on Steve's head--the latter is slightly shorter when he is perched on a stool in front of his easel. 

"But Bucky, I'm almost done," Steve retaliates. There is little strength behind his words however, sleepiness peaking through. Bucky knows that Steve must be feeling fatigued if he can't even put up a proper fight. It also lets Bucky know that he will win. 

Bucky wraps his arm around Steve, resting his palm on the joint of Steve's far shoulder and lifting his own head to pull Steve gently against his chest. "C'mon, sleep is good for you."

Steve's paintbrush lowers further and Bucky can smell victory. "Plus, the bed is cold without you and neither dog climbed in with me."

"Well, I can't argue with that," Steve says. He does eye Bucky's bare torso however, raising an eyebrow to suggest the obvious. 

"You can't argue with this," Bucky says, motioning to himself with his hand. "Even lacking twenty five percent."

"You're not lacking anything, Buck," Steve says and Bucky rolls his eyes to the cheesiness. 

"Thanks Mr. Romantic, but I literally don't have one arm." As Bucky talks, Steve shifts off of the stool and Bucky steps back to give Steve room to clean up his things. He takes the paintbrushes and palette to the kitchen sink, rinsing them thoroughly and then putting the palette in the dish drainer. Bucky moves to one of the cabinets to retrieve a glass for Steve to prop the brushes in so that they can dry properly overnight. 

Bucky takes Steve's hand then and leads him back toward the bedroom, passing the almost completed painting on their way. Steve literally drags behind him for a moment, like a magnet moving past a piece of metal. Steve is so heavily drawn to his art that Bucky can hardly imagine how Steve had nearly pursued military science during their freshman year of college. 

"You can finish tomorrow," Bucky reminds Steve. He strokes his thumb along Steve's and the gentle movement coaxes him to keep walking. 

Once in the bedroom, Bucky silently pushes Steve towards the dresser to put on pajamas. Bucky himself sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for Steve.

When they're both ready for sleep, Bucky turns off his bedside lamp and Steve slides beneath the blankets. The mattress creaks for a moment as the both get comfortable, Steve sliding across the mattress to lay on his side beside Bucky. "Spoon?" he asks, and Bucky flips on his side to let Steve move his body behind his, folding his legs to the same angle and pressing the entire line of their bodies together. His breath is warm on the back of Bucky's neck. 

"Goodnight," Steve murmurs into Bucky's skin, his lips brushing the peach fuzz there.

"Goodnight my love," Bucky replies. He thinks he feels the bed shake subtly as Steve giggles. They both lapse into silence then, and Bucky falls asleep within five minutes. Steve follows within three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, know what to do. Also hit me up on [ my tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com) if you want


	21. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is past midnight (and LONG past midnight for some people probably) but I haven't gone to sleep so it counts, okay? Okay.
> 
> Something short and sweet. It is not yet proofread as I am dying to go to sleep but I will look it over in the morning for typos!

The laundry room is located on the first floor of the building, down a small hallway and through a door to the left. It is a bit of a walk from their apartment, and the process of hauling a basket down to it takes strength and skill. Or so Bucky claims, so that he flatters Steve  _and_ gets him to take down the basket full of their bedding all with one carefully worded sentence. Steve knows what Bucky is doing, and yet somehow he is the one now pulling the sheets from the dryer and tossing the fabric softener sheet into the trashcan in the corner of the laundry room.

Steve begins the trek back upstairs, bumping the elevator button with a corner of the basket lofted in his arms and waiting for the gentle ping of its arrival. In the elevator, he sets the basket down because why _not_ be lazy when you can. 

Thankfully, Steve had thought to prop the door to their apartment. When he arrives at it, he pushes it open with the basket coming through first and heads to their bedroom. Bucky slips away from his work desk in the dining nook and follows Steve to their room, socks padding on the floor. Behind him, the clink of dog tags follows, Hudson and Brooklyn as attached as always. 

"Throw me a corner," Bucky says as soon as he enters the room to see Steve struggling with the fitted sheet. "We just have to figure out which is the long side and which is the short side."

" _Just_ ," Steve stresses sarcastically as he hands some of the material over to Bucky's mismatched hands. 

"So this," Bucky says, gripping a section of fabric in his flesh hand, "Is a corner, so then this side should be a long side," he reasons. Steve shuffles around the bed so that the corners and sides he holds are then arranged correctly and stretches the top of the sheet from the head of the bed to the foot. Only he has to stop several feet short. 

"So, were you sure about that Buck? Final answer?" Steve asks, glancing at Bucky from under his lashes.

"Oh shut up," Bucky throws back as they spin the sheet, now aligning the sides of the sheet to the proper sides of the bed. "I tried, ya know?"

"You want an A for effort?" Steve asks.

"As a matter of fact," Bucky says as he smoothes the sheet and tucks the edges between the mattress and the box spring, "I do."

"Too bad you are talking to the person who gives out grades at a university," Steve retaliates, a smile haunting his words.

"You set me up for that."

"You bet I did."

Steve returns to the laundry basket and pulls out the top sheet now. This is easier, as they both spot the thicker strip at the top of the sheet easily, where is doubled over and hemmed. Bucky lays it at the head of the bed, making it parallel to the edge of the mattress while Steve tucks the excess fabric in at the end of the bed. 

"Where did you put the pillows?" Bucky asks, glancing around the room. It is a void question however as he spots them on the dresser. Steve is closer and heads over, tossing two over his shoulder to Bucky without looking and grabbing the other two himself.

"Hey!" Bucky barks as he catches one pillow but is softly knocked in the head by the other.

"Think fast," Steve calls, like saying it  _after_ the fact will fix Bucky getting hit with a pillow. 

In a true display of maturity and zero childish fun, Bucky snatches the pillow off the floor and lobs it back at Steve.

He turns slowly after the pillow whacks into his back and raises and eyebrow at Bucky. "So we're playing that game, huh?"

Bucky will never admit to the tiny bolt of thrill that spikes his stomach as he readies his other pillow, still grasped in his hands, and takes a ready position. Steve advances. 

Before pillows have even contacted people again, the dogs feed off of the energy and crowd their feet. Steve attempts the first hit, swinging his pillow wildly and missing Bucky as he takes a step back. But his calves press into the bed and he cannot maneuver easily. Hudson is beside him, wagging and wondering if he can be a part of the game. In a surge of brilliant inspiration, Bucky steps back onto the bed and brings himself closer to the ceiling. This way, the dog's toes aren't at risk  _and_ he has the height advantage.

"Oh, c'mon Buck, we just made that."

"You started this," Bucky teases as he makes a swing for Steve's shoulder. The pillow gently  _fufts_ against the muscle and Steve retaliates by hitting Bucky's thigh with his own as he advances on the bed. 

"That all you got?" Bucky goades.

Steve puts a foot on the bed and levels himself onto it too. The mattress shifts beneath Bucky's feet, his balance harder to keep now that someone else's weight is affecting the surface. He tries to swing his pillow for Steve's chest but Steve bends back easily out of reach.

The shift in Steve's weight disturbs the mattress however and Bucky tips backwards. He throws out a hand, the prosthetic to catch himself, remembers that he shouldn't ever put that much of his body weight on the hand, and instead just hits the mattress and fucking _bounces_ because of his momentum. In the fall he has lost his pillow and is a sitting duck for Steve's onslaught. 

Brooklyn barks, whether in dismay or support neither are sure, as Steve steps across the mattress to Bucky's laughing form and thumps the pillow against his side. 

"You are dead, on the ground and everything," Steve says, words distorted by the puffs of giggles in his lungs. 

"I definitely lost," Bucky wheezes as he gets back his breath from the laughter.

Steve whacks him one more time with the pillow. "For good measure," he rationalizes and then throws himself down on the bed beside Bucky, momentarily bouncing Bucky into the air to gently fall back onto the springs.

"Remember when this top sheet was smoothed and tucked in?" Bucky asks.

"We are shit," Steve responds. 

 


	22. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that I don't know wtf it is

"I would be down for looking at Zac Efron's face for two hours," Bucky says. Steve throws him an exasperated look and selects _Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates_  with the remote. They had decided against a Christmas movie tonight since they have already watched so many this month. Instead, they were scrolling through the comedies.

"Do we want snacks before we start?" Bucky asks as the company logos make their appearance on screen.

Steve pauses the movie. " _Of course_."

They both leap off the sofa, exciting the dogs who also jump to their feet. Hudson lets out a small bark, wondering what is up. The blanket that had been across the two of them falls to the ground.

"Calm down guys, settle down," Steve tells them. Like they can actually understand what he is saying, both curl back up and watch them head around the sofa to the kitchen.

"Don't grab the Reese's or I'll have a flash back," Steve warns Bucky. "Are we drinking too?"

"What are you thinking?" Bucky asks. 

"Well, all we have right now is that red wine Natasha left here or the Shock Top in the fridge."

"Wine?"

"Wine," Steve agrees. It is a cabernet sauvignon featuring a small horse caricature on the label. Steve digs in one of the drawers for their corkscrew and opens it while Bucky grabs a bag of chips and an oversized jar of chocolate almonds they bought at Costco. 

"I could live off of these," Bucky admits as he waits for Steve to finish with the wine. 

"Maybe don't though," Steve suggests as he tosses the wine cork in the trash and grabs two stemmed glasses from their spot on the top shelf. They don't typically get much use. 

They settle back onto the sofa and tuck themselves beneath the blanket. They sit on opposite ends with their legs tangled beneath the blanket in the middle. Steve leans over and fills them each one wine glass and leaves the bottle on the table. After taking the first sip, he sets it on the end table behind his head. The chips are resting open against Steve's knee and Bucky has the chocolate almonds against his chest with an arm looped around the jar. 

Steve hits play on the movie and they make it through the first scene before he realizes what Bucky is hogging. 

"Can you pass me the jar?" Steve asks, not taking his eyes away from the television screen. 

"No." Bucky keeps his face straight but his cheeks are itching to twitch in amusement. 

"Buck!" Steve says, exasperated, as he turns to focus on the man across the sofa. 

Bucky pulls an almond from the jar and raises it with his elbow bent, insinuating that he is going to throw it to Steve.

"Am I trying to catch this in my mouth?" Steve asks. 

"Of course," Bucky says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. 

Steve resigns to the game and awaits Bucky's toss with his mouth open and his head tilted slightly back. He has to dart to the side to actually catch the tossed almond but he does snatch it and Bucky raises his arms in victory. 

Steve chews and swallows it. "Gooooooaaaaaaal!" he cheers.

"Again," Bucky laughs, digging into the jar for another chocolate almond. Steve resumes the position. 

Twenty minutes into the movie they realize that they have no clue what has occurred so far. "Wait, so how do Aubrey Plaza and Anna Kendrick know one another?" Steve asks. 

"We gotta rewind," Bucky decides, grabbing the remote from where it rests amongst their legs. 

While the movie backs up, Bucky digs one more almond from the jar and tosses it to Steve. He catches it in his mouth and reaches across the couch to fist bump Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH this is my relationship goal. 
> 
> Couple of things: they were drinking Dark Horse wine which is my absolute FAV and it's cheap! I would also recommend _Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates_ if you want to have a laugh but don't read the book, the actual Mike and Dave that wrote the autobiography to inspire the movie are super misogynistic and it's just infuriating to read.


	23. Friday

The flight to New York had been long and eaten up the majority of the day. Steve seems dead on his feet and Bucky had forgotten how much he hates flying, how it takes a toll on his immune system and just exhausts the crap out of him.

Bucky is the one navigating their way down the correct escalators and to the baggage claim while Steve trails behind. They are both dreading the hour drive after this to Bucky’s mom’s new place in the suburbs but they also weren’t going to spend Christmas just the two of them in Chicago. No way.

Every year, Bucky has gone home for the holidays and every year Steve has come too. With his mom passing the summer before their first semester of undergrad, there had never really been a question of where Steve would spend his Christmases.

“That one is yours, right?” Bucky asks as he takes a step towards the baggage claim carousel. Steve’s navy suitcase is moving by, or at least Bucky thinks it is.

“Yes?” Steve answers and Bucky darts forwards to check the luggage tag. He has to walk with the moving suitcase as he reads it. _Karen Page_.

“Just a look-a-like,” Bucky says as he returns to Steve’s side. He wishes they could have just carried everything on but what with trying to fit the presents for everyone into their luggage, it was never going to happen. As it is, Steve had apparently ordered Bucky’s presents to his mom’s house and is wrapping them there so that he wouldn’t have to fly whatever it is. Bucky’s curiosity is insatiable but he has tried to keep from asking questions as Christmas draws nearer. His heart glows knowing that Steve is such a part of the family that his mom didn’t bat an eye at him having packages sent to her home _and_ at needing to use some of her wrapping paper.

“Oh no,” Bucky suddenly says. He has just had a realization. “My mom is going to ask about the wedding.”

Steve’s shoulders slump a little beside him. “Oh boy,” he murmurs.

“As excited as I am to seal the deal--,” Bucky begins.

“I know Buck, same,” Steve says. He slips his arm around Bucky’s waist and pulls him into his side as they watch the suitcases slide past. The airport is busy and their flight was full, they may well be here all night waiting for their baggage to appear.

“We just haven’t had time until you finished classes… and it’s going to be so expensive to have the size ceremony we want…”

“Gotta have _all_ the attention on us,” Steve murmurs and Bucky isn’t sure if he is saying jokes under his breath or if he is that tired that he is talking that quietly.

“And she will want details, she is too damn excited,” Bucky sighs. “I love her, but being the first kid to get married is damn hard.”

“Did you want Rebecca to get married at nineteen?” Steve asks and Bucky can hear his smile.

“Of course not, I just kind of wish my mom would tone it down is all.”

“Buck, isn’t that one yours?” Steve suddenly says full volume and Bucky jumps and focuses on the suitcases moving past. Sure enough, there is Bucky’s beaten up, well-used, red suitcase. It really is unmistakable.

Bucky weaves between the few people who have settled in front of them and grabs the suitcase with his real hand. It is hard to muscle it off the belt with the singular grip, since his prosthetic shouldn’t take that much weight. The thing is huge after all and laden with Christmas presents, but he manages and wheels it back to Steve. His fiancé makes a move as if to help him but aborts it. He knows full well that Bucky would rather do anything by himself than accept help, just like how Steve would never let himself accept help when he was so much smaller in high school.

They silently wait for Steve’s, their shoulders brushing every time one of them shifts their weight. The crowd is slowly dissipating, people finding their bags and leaving the airport.

When there is a gap in the parade of suitcases moving by, Bucky takes a moment to glance at Steve. He is beautiful like this, a little sleepy, a little soft and delicate. His eyelashes are downcast, looking like they could brush his cheekbones. As it is, the harsh lights high above throw shadows across them of the wispy lashes. Steve sighs as he watches the baggage claim, and Bucky watches his lips gently part to release the breath. They are slightly chapped from the dry air on the flight, a little rough just like rest of Steve. People think artists art soft, but in reality there are callouses and late nights and sore muscles from sitting for so long. There is frustration and, occasionally as Bucky has witnessed, hair pulling. It isn’t soft: only the product sometimes is.

When Bucky looks back at the belt, his eyes spot Steve’s suitcase. Just as he moves to take a step forward, Steve jerks into action. He has spotted it too, and strides to the carousel to hoist it up and pull out the handle. He comes back to Bucky’s side quickly and says one thing.

“Car rental?”

“Yup, we are off to Hertz,” Bucky responds. He knows Steve has a single minded focus now because he has realized that he can sleep in the car and Bucky would never be able to deny him that.

They sign the necessary paperwork for the rental car and weave their way through the parking garage to find the Camry they have been assigned.

Steve hefts their luggage into the trunk while Bucky climbs in to start the car and let the heating system get warm before they leave. By the time Steve clambers in, it is toasty and Bucky has had his seat heater running. When he realizes, he throws an appreciative smile to the driver’s seat.

They both take off their coats and settle in for the hour long drive to Bucky’s mom’s before they back out of the spot. There is a hectic few minutes of navigating the airport traffic, increased and intensified by the holiday season. Steve uses his phone to tell Bucky where to turn, but they miss one and have to take the longer way out of the area. Finally, they hit the highway and there is a five-mile breather before they need to start looking for the exit.

Outside the windows, the city lights illuminate the world like it’s day despite the lateness of the hour. Their flight had been delayed by an hour due to an electrical problem and they had not landed until ten. Now, they won’t reach Ms. Barnes house until nearly midnight.

“God I miss Brooklyn,” Steve says, gazing off towards their neighborhood.

“Me too,” Bucky quietly admits. “We should visit while we are in town.”

“Maybe,” Steve agrees. “Do you know what your mom wants to do tomorrow?”

“Not, sure. Might be going into the city though. Knowing her, she will panic that she doesn’t have enough stocking stuffers and drag us all to the department stores.”

“Oh gosh, she will won’t we,” Steve chuckles. “Was it last year that she panicked on Christmas morning that she didn’t have enough pies for desert? How many did we end up with?”

“Four pies. FOUR. For four people.”

“God I love visiting your mom,” Steve sighs. “Remember in high school when she used to give us second lunch after school?”

“Second lunch?! It was an all you can eat buffet!”

“That is a more apt description, isn’t it? Exit is on your right in a quarter mile.”

Bucky move the car over one lane and keeps his eyes peeled for the sign. When they finally hit the highway that will take them to the correct suburb, Steve settles back into his seat but doesn’t sleep. Yet.

Steve keeps his phone lit, pretending he is not going to fall asleep and that he will continue to navigate Bucky. They both know this is a lie, the kind where someone really believes they can change and achieve their aspirations, the kind where they lie to themselves chronically, but it’s a lie all the same.

Steve proves it so within fifteen minutes. Bucky risks a glance to the side to see that his head has fallen against the window, an odd, uncomfortable angle. His mouth is hanging slightly open, deep breathes slipping past his lips silently.

Once the traffic clears away and they are driving more secluded, with just headlights far behind and taillights far ahead, Bucky reaches over to draw Steve’s jacket from where head shoved it by his feet and pulls it up over his sleeping form, a makeshift blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a chronic car sleeper and lemme tell you, Steve's neck is going to feel _broken_ when he wakes up.


	24. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve at Ms. Barnes's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another addition posted after 12am but hey, I haven't gone to sleep yet so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Someone was a boyscout,” Ms. Barnes laughs as Steve carefully puts another log on the fire and replaces the protective gate across the hearth.

“I am arguably not prepared enough for that, just know how to make fires,” Steve says, but Bucky knows for a fact that Steve was a boyscout for two years _and_ that he is in fact often prepared. Lies, all lies.

Steve returns to his seat beside Bucky on the couch. Everyone refocuses on the board game on the coffee table, the Disney version of Monopoly, that they’ve been at for the last hour and a half. Almost every property on the board has been bought and there is a terrifying lineup of castles on the second to last set of properties before you pass go. Becca owns them and her eyes are lit with delight as Bucky gathers the dice for his turn; he is only four spots away from the first of the castled properties.

“Roll a four, roll a four, roll a four,” Becca chants under her breath and Bucky gives her a look that says it would be a middle finger if their mother was not in the room.

He rolls an eight and breathes a sigh of relief as he moves his piece past all of her bankruptcy-causing properties.

Steve is next, his _Lady and the Tramp_ shaped play piece six spots behind where Bucky’s was. He takes a breath and rolls the die to come up with two sixes.

“Yes!” Becca hisses, triumphant, as she realizes that Steve is about to land on one of her spots. Steve groans as he regretfully moves his piece to the property.

“How much?” he nearly cries.

After Steve is done mortgaging half his properties, they play all the way around the board again. Becca’s stretch is the only series of land mines on the board and Bucky sighs heavily when he returns to it.

“Please get past, please get past,” he begs under his breath.

“You praying to capitalism there, Buck?” Steve asks.

“I’ll pray to whomever I need to in order to win,” he shoots back. Then he rolls.

Becca hoots in delight as everyone realizes he has landed on one of her properties. Bucky groans aloud and begins mortgaging his cheaper properties that come right after “Go”. It is not enough.

“Damn it Becca,” Bucky complains. “Why do you always win this game?”

“Because I’m smarter, obviously,” she replies. Bucky throws himself around to her side of the coffee table and secures her in a headlock, his prosthetic hand messing up her hair.

“Buuuuuckyyyyy!” she whines.

“Kids!” Ms. Barnes scolds.

Steve is beside himself with laughter as they dart apart, forever responsive to her stern words. Steve doesn’t think he has ever seen Bucky listen to someone else so easily.

Bucky grudgingly mortgages more properties, only to find that he has landed on a spot he simply cannot afford. “Does this mean I lose?” he asks, pitching a sad look at Becca.

“Yup,” she informs him, popping the P for added annoyance. He scowls.

“If James is out,” Ms. Barnes begins, “then I say Becca is the winner and I get to go to bed.” She punctuates the sentence with a yawn. Across the table, Steve catches the yawn contagion too.

“Just throwing in the towel, are you?” Bucky teases.

“Some of us,” she says, eyeing Bucky, “don’t survive well on five hours of sleep for Christmas.”

“I only did that as a kid!” he complains.

“You _barely_ slept the night before Christmas and then would wake your father and I at _six in the morning_.”

“Can’t blame a kid for getting excited!” Bucky argues.

“I have to say, I did do the same,” Steve chimes in. “But my mom always made me make the coffee if I was going to wake her that early.”

“Rightfully so, it is a god awful hour, especially when parents have to stay up until two in the morning just to put the presents under the tree,” Ms. Barnes tells them. “You two will know about that soon enough I expect.”

There is a long moment in which Bucky thinks he could hear a pin drop. Steve is the first to break from the shock.

“We’ll see, I need to get a ring on him too first,” Steve jokes, throwing Bucky an adoring look. Bucky notices that the fingers of his right hand are spinning the engagement ring on his left.

“It’ll be sooner than you think,” Ms. Barnes says as she rises from the floor around the coffee table.

“And with those wise words you’re off to bed?” Becca asks. “Way to make an exit.”

“G’night,” she chirps, ignoring her daughter. “I’ll see you all in the morning, _not_ at six.”

“Night mom,” Becca and Bucky call in unison.

“Goodnight,” Steve says while throwing an astounded glance to both of the siblings.

When it has gone quiet again, Becca glances between them and then stands too. “I’m going to hit the sack too I guess, I feel like you two lovebirds might have something to discuss.”

“Becca—damn it—“ Bucky stutters, embarrassed.

“Night brother!” she cuts him off before heading to the stairs.

Steve moves around the table as soon as she has gone and takes Bucky’s hand to lead him to the couch. It is a large L shaped one, easily fitting the corner of the living room, and they pile into the crook of the couch cushions together.

“So,” Steve starts.

“So,” Bucky responds, not meeting his eyes.

“Kids.”

“I guess my mom is a little gung-ho about it,” Bucky says slowly.

Steve is silent for a moment. “We’ve never discussed it in depth before.” It is true, they have thrown out jokes before about what their children would be like, or taken strangers comments about having a family with ease. But they themselves have never honestly sat down and asked one another if or when they see children in their future. In retrospect, Bucky thinks that this should have perhaps come up before now.

“Do you… Are kids something you want for us?” Bucky finally asks. He thinks he does himself, but does Steve?

“Right now the dogs feel like our children,” Steve points out. “And I think we then have proven ourselves…I think we would be damn good parents. So yeah?”

“Do you know if you would want a surrogate mother or…adoption?” Bucky asks.

“I would want to adopt,” Steve says quickly. Bucky glances at his face to see a hard line knit between his eyebrows. He knows that look, it means Steve’s mind is somewhere in the past. Bucky assumes that Steve’s preference for adoption stems from losing his own mother. She had, after all, only died a month after his eighteenth birthday. He was an orphan anyways, even if the law did not consider him one.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Me too.” He relaxes into Steve then, shuffling to fit himself against his side and threading his fingers between Steve’s. He leans his head back onto Steve’s shoulder and presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw.

“Someday we are going to be parents?” Steve asks.

“Someday we will be. But first you gotta officially tie me down.”

“Will do,” Steve promises. “Will do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or comments so I know if people are still enjoying the story!


	25. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

Bucky hears the click of the bedroom door but doesn’t open his eyes nor move.

“Please be clothed, please be clothed,” Becca mutters under her breath as she creeps towards the bed. Bucky tries not to smile.

Her weight hits the bed, right in the middle between Steve and Bucky as she yells, “Get up assholes, it’s Christmas!”

Steve groans like he is approximately ninety years old and Bucky can tell that he was dead asleep when Becca came in. Bucky on the other hand is awake enough to rub his eyes as he sits up.

“Whyyyyyyy,” he asks Becca. She is now sitting cross-legged on the bed by their feet.

“First things first, are you both clothed under there,” she asks, pointing to the blanket draped across both their bodies.

“Do you really think we had sex under mom’s roof? She would know in five seconds flat and probably barge in with holy water.”

“Bucky, shut up,” Steve tells him. The note of embarrassment barely makes it past the down of the pillow pressed to his face.

“Good, cause that would be awkward,” Becca chirps. “Mom is already making pancakes and there are presents under the tree so get your asses out there.” And with that, she flits from the room.

“Why does she have so much energy,” Steve mumbles.

“Cause life hasn’t stomped out her hope yet,” Bucky replies. Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s knee and squeezes.

By the time they have brushed their teeth, donned shirts, strapped on Bucky’s arm, and made it to the kitchen there is a platter of pancakes waiting on the counter. The chocolate chips in each are red and green, creating the most Christmas-infused pancakes Bucky thinks he has ever seen.

Steve pours coffee for both of them while Bucky loads up plates and they join Ms. Barnes and Becca at the dining room table. From here, they can see into the living room. The tree is lit with presents beneath, an alarming amount for a family with no small children anymore.

“Mom, what is all that?” Bucky asks.

“Presents,” she answers simply, ignoring the obvious reason that he is asking.

“How many?”

“As many as seemed appropriate since your father was finally forced to pay all the child support he skipped out on,” she says. Bucky doesn’t miss how she stabs a pancake after finishing the sentence.

“The court spending ten years too long getting dad to pay actually has its perks, who knew,” Becca says dryly.

Thankfully, they drop the topic of their estranged father thereafter and soon move to the living room to begin opening the gifts. Steve and Bucky have to dart back to their bedroom to gather the gifts they brought and place them beneath the tree as well. When they all settle onto the floor and surrounding seating of the tree, the presents are overflowing from beneath.

“When did we become those people?” Bucky asks. “We look like we are from a movie.”

“He’s in shock,” Steve disclaims for his mother and sister.

They finally begin opening presents then, Becca opening the sweater from Steve first and then the new backpack from her mom for carting all her textbooks around campus. Ms. Barnes receives a necklace and a few new books from Bucky and Steve, as well as the typical candy and small goodies in her stocking. Steve has already received his gift from Bucky, the concert tickets, but there are a few small things left: chocolate covered cherries, a beautiful ornament that is a printed picture of the dogs in a frame, and a new set of charcoals. Bucky discovers that the gift Steve had shipped to his mother’s was a new Wi-Fi router that will make their Internet twice as fast and Bucky thinks he could cry from happiness. Finally, there is only one gift left beneath the tree: a nondescript box with a tag that announces that it is for Bucky. Becca digs it out from near the base of the tree to hand across the sofa.

When Bucky rips the paper off of the box and opens it, he groans. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, pivoting to face Steve. He pulls a smaller wrapped box from inside the first. Steve develops a shit-eating grin.

Bucky becomes more and more exasperated. He is four boxes in and the present is getting smaller and smaller. He is, however, impressed with how many different kinds of wrapping paper Steve used. He didn’t even realize that they _had_ this many at their apartment.

When Bucky reaches a box with the name of a company near their apartment, he stops. “This is it, isn’t it?” Steve nods. The company is a family owned jeweler from their Chicago neighborhood and suddenly, he thinks he knows what this is.

“You didn’t,” he gasps, glancing at Steve.

“Find out if I did,” Steve replies, motioning back to the box. Bucky opens it and reveals two ring boxes sandwiched side-by-side inside.

“You didn’t,” he repeats as he opens the first. Inside is a simple silver wedding band. He opens the second to discover a matching one.

“Look at the insides,” Steve gently coaxes Bucky. The latter doesn’t understand why Steve is speaking so softly until he realizes there are tears in his eyes and his hand is shaking. He carefully removes one of the rings from its cushioning and peaks at the inside of the band. There are four years written there: 2002, 2009, 2015, and 2017.

“The year we met,” Bucky murmurs as he focuses on the “2002”. When he shifts his eyes to the next date, Steve speaks in unison. “The year we started dating.” There is a pause as Bucky’s eyes shift to the next one. “The year we got engaged.” He carefully traces the 2017 with a finger from his prosthetic hand. A tear rolls down his cheek. “The year we are going to get married.”

Steve moves to the sofa cushion beside Bucky and Becca scoots as close to the far arm as he can get. Their sides press together and Steve reaches over to brush the tear from Bucky’s cheek. “I’m so ready to be married to you Buck, and having wedding rings makes everything real. I’m in this with you forever, and I wanted something special to symbolize—“

Bucky shuts him up with a kiss, a chaste one before he drops his head to Steve’s shoulder to hide his face. Becca murmurs a quiet “Gross” which her mother shushes.

Bucky glances at his mother then to see that she, too, is crying. He has always known where he got his emotional side from but it is clearly evident at the moment.

“We are getting married next year,” Bucky says, sounding surprised. “This is real.”

“Yeah Buck, it is,” Steve says before pressing a kiss to his hair.

“I better start planning,” Ms. Barnes says. Bucky can’t help the laugh that bursts from his lips. It is a surprised one, but also one of the most joyous ones he has ever expressed. Steve slips an arm around his shoulders and hauls him into his side.

“I can’t wait to be married to your ass,” he laughs too.

“Ugh, serial monogamists,” Becca teases.

“Becca!” Ms. Barnes scolds. They all laugh again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, please let me know any thoughts! Also, feel free to come chat with me on [my tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)


	26. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there is any confusion, I am writing this all the way through to the NYE, a full month of fluff :)

"Is that you in  _dinosaur_ pajamas?" Steve asks incredulously. 

"You know what, why don't we look at these pictures of me playing basketball in second grade?" Bucky replies.

Ms. Barnes, to Bucky's horror, dug out the family photos after breakfast. Steve and Bucky's flight to O'Hare doesn't leave until seven tonight, and she had decided that this--of all things--was a worthy way to spend the day.

"They are footie pajamas and everything!" Steve crows in delight. 

"Basketball was really fun," Bucky says, ignoring Steve. "I was number two because the coach's son got to be one but I remember that I wanted the number closest to the front."

"Steve," Ms. Barnes interrupts, "here is Bucky in the science fair!"

Bucky resigns to his fate of having Steve see every embarrassing old photo of him in existence and slumps against the back of the sofa, still holding the team picture from his eight year old basketball team. 

"What was your experiment?" Steve asks, taking the science fair photo from Bucky's mom. 

"A model of Pangea and it's breakage," Bucky replies.

Steve glances his way. "So you've always been a science nerd?"

"Since day one," he answers, exasperated. 

"Why have we never looked through pictures before?" Steve asks as he turns back to the box before them. It is a good question. They have been dating for years, as well as friends before that, and Steve can count the number of times he has seen pictures of young Bucky on one hand.

"To save myself this embarrassment," Bucky murmurs.

"But you were so cute!" Steve argues. "Look at you in your superman Halloween costume!" He holds up a picture of Bucky in third grade with fake muscles, a cape, and a large S on his chest. 

"Bucky went as Otto from  _Rocket Power_ in second grade," Becca helpfully fills in from the other side of the room. She is on her computer, installing the new Sims game she got for Christmas.

"Shut up Bec," Bucky groans. 

Steve practically glows with this new information. "We  _need_ to find a picture of that," he says, beginning to flip through the pictures in the box again. 

"But what if we didn't?" Bucky replies. Everyone ignores him. 

Eventually, they find his baby pictures too. Bucky buries his face in a couch pillow while his mom shows Steve hospital pictures of Bucky, skin pink and mouth gaping open as he cries. To her credit, Ms. Barnes looks absolutely overjoyed that she has a screaming baby in her arms. 

"Was he a crier?" Steve asks.

"He actually pouted more than cried or threw fits," Ms. Barnes replies. 

"So glad we have moved onto discussing my toddler tendencies."

It is a relief for Bucky when the doorbell rings, a neighbor asking if they got their newspaper because hers seems to be missing, and Bucky quickly packs all the photos into the box and slides it under the coffee table. 

"Who is ready for lunch?" he asks. "Do we want to try that new deli in town mom mentioned on Saturday?


	27. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of this headcanon the other day for this fic and couldn't resist. It is short but I desperately wanted to write this little scene so   
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Natasha and Steve have a habit of seeing each other rarely but for long periods of time. After bonding so wholeheartedly through several gen eds in undergrad, they had a bond mostly based off of merciless teasing and being drinking buddies. Natasha's Russian heritage could almost match Steve's tolerance due to muscle mass. 

When Steve is finally fumbling with his key outside the apartment door, it is past midnight and he has had one too many. He  _probably_ should have gotten an uber home, but the risk of a six foot man with obvious bulk, even beneath a winter jacket, getting mugged seemed slim to his tipsy mind. Steve slowly opens the door, hoping not to wake the dogs and cause an uproar. Odds are Bucky is asleep and Steve plans to keep it that way.

Hudson lets out one yip when Steve rounds the corner into the living area, but a silent finger to his lips silences the whippet. He surveys the room slowly, taking in the television illuminating the couch via an infomercial and then the prone form on the cushions. 

Bucky is asleep with his flesh arm curled beneath his head, on his side with his knees tucked towards his chest and face relaxed in deep sleep. It appears that he fell asleep suddenly, considering the blanket is still across the back of the sofa and his prosthetic arm rests along his side. 

"Sweetie," Steve murmurs with a smile, moving to the couch and gently brushing a thumb along Bucky's cheek. Bucky's eyes flutter open and he grins when he spots Steve.

"Hey Buck, want to take your arm off?" Steve asks. He rubs a gentle hand along Bucky's side. He can tell that his fiance is barely awake. 

Bucky grumbles an unintelligible reply and Steve decides it is a yes because he will be damned if Bucky is going to sleep with his arm on. As it is, when he takes it off at night the skin under the straps is usually irritated and needs the reprieve. If he sleeps with it on, he will be sorry tomorrow. 

"Stevie," Bucky murmurs as Steve attempts to ruck Bucky's shirt up enough to undo the straps for his prosthetic. It is a struggle to manipulate his arms through the holes so that just Bucky's head is through the neck hole. He is dead weight, to a point where Steve feels like Bucky  _must_ be going it on purpose. His tipsiness doesn't help the situation.

"You've got to be kidding me," Steve mutters as he finally is able to release the large strap across Bucky's chest and slip off the prosthetic. He sets it on the coffee table and then pivots on his crouched legs back to Bucky. He pulls his shirt back down and puts his real arm back through the sleeve. "Want to sleep in the bed?" he asks. 

Bucky's eyes are closed and he moves his lips for a moment before mumbling a reply. "Hymphmph no."

"Humph mumph no?" Steve asks back sarcastically. He receives no reply. 

With a sigh, Steve grabs the TV remote and turns it off. He then pulls the blanket off the back of the sofa and tucks it around Bucky, making sure his toes are covered, and then heads to the bedroom himself. Both dogs follow Steve as he changes and puts on pajamas before setting an alarm on his phone for three hours later and tucking himself in.

When the alarm goes off, he groans but pulls himself out of the bed. It is almost four in the morning and he almost can't believe he is doing this but _god damn it_ he is in love with Bucky and cares for that little shit. He treks out to the living room, steady as ever now that he has had time to completely sober up, and finds Bucky snoring on the couch still. 

"Let's go, Buck," Steve murmurs, scooping Bucky into his arms. It has been a long time since he carried Bucky anywhere, but he manages to cradle his fiance to his chest and bring his sleeping form into the bedroom. There, he tucks him into his side of the bed, smoothing back his hair and pressing a kiss to his temple before climbing under the covers on his own side of the mattress. 

Steve closes his eyes, ready to go back to sleep, when Bucky murmurs something. He strains, listening carefully, and Bucky does it again. 

"Stevie Steve," Bucky says, lips barely parting and words distorted. Steve can't remember the last time Bucky spoke in his sleep. It has been years he thinks. 

"Yeah Buck," Steve replies, unsure if Bucky will know he is responding or not. "It's good ole Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve here is basically me because whenever I am drunk I just aggressively mother my friends.  
> [my tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)


	28. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry if you have never played Halo. Here is my basic af rundown of the game: Super soldiers in space fight an evil group of aliens known as the Covenant that keep trying to destroy the universe. Multiplayer gameplay is either an epic version of capture the flag on foreign planets or fighting one another over and over and respawning onto the stage again and again. I haven't actually played multiplayer with someone not in the room before so there might be some fabricated details but the basic idea is here. As far as lingo goes, Warthogs are the army jeeps in the game and a scope is the sighting thing on a sniper rifle.
> 
> Shoutout to [Nori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nori/pseuds/Nori) for writing a video game fic that inspired this chapter of Domestic December! [Matchmaking](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7908166/chapters/18066439) is so good! Would highly recommend!

"Bucky, what did you say?" Steve calls from the bathroom. It is slightly garbled seeing as his toothbrush is protruding from between his lips but Bucky will be able to understand him. 

"I'm talking to Sam!" Bucky replies hastily. 

"Sam?" Steve asks, leaving the bathroom as he scrubs at his teeth. "When did Sam get here?" He comes out into the living room to find Bucky by himself, xbox controller in hand, and the head piece on. "Oh."

"Halo," Bucky replies, nodding to the screen. "You want the second controller?"

"Of course I want the second controller," Steve answers, hurrying back to the bathroom to spit toothpaste into the sink and rinse his mouth. He paces back to the sofa and plops beside Bucky, who has dug the second controller out of the one of the TV stand drawers and synced it to the console for Steve.

"What are we playing?" Steve asks. 

"Sam was about to start a game of capture the flag," Bucky tells him. 

"It's gonna be lit," Sam's voice chuckles over the headset. 

"Playing against randos is always lit," Bucky replies.

"We are going to be playing  _with_ randos too," Steve reminds them. "We only have three."

"Even better."

Steve thinks that playing xbox against random teenagers should not amuse twenty something year olds as much as it does, yet here they are. Sam starts the game and Bucky and Steve join easily, the game waiting to select other people on the online servers to join them before plopping them all onto the stage. They are on an alien planet. It is a dusty one, with canyons and plains. Their team's base appears to be a guard tower protruding from the desert. The enemy's isn't known yet, but Steve can bet it is somewhere in the canyons to the side of the tower. 

"I'll stay back and snipe from here," Bucky says. "You guys find their base. And the randos will do whatever they damn well please." Beside Steve's on screen character, Bucky's switches his weapons from a pistol to the sniper rifle and crouches to conceal his body behind the half wall along the platform of the tower. 

Sam and Steve's characters begin to find their way down the tower. Along the way, Steve finds a shotgun and swaps it out for the pistol the game starts the character with. 

Steve's character jumps off the last platform rather than finding the ramp down and is immediately mowed down an enemy warthog racing past. 

"Shit," he snaps as his screen circles his fallen character and counts down to when he responds. 

"Down already old man?" Sam asks as his character reaches the bottom of the ramp Steve  _should_ have taken and heads out onto the battle field. Between their tower and the canyon is desert rocks and a few metal pieces from faked fallen airships. 

"Zip it, Sam," Steve replies. "Or should I call you 'Falcon'?" He is referring to Sam's gamer tag, "FalconHero".

"Please do," Sam replies. "And then I can call you 'CyborgSoldier'."

"That's Bucky's tag, not mine," Steve reminds Sam as he shoots an enemy from a middle tier of the tower on his way back down. 

"Wha was that tone?" Bucky asks. "Do you think yours is any better?" Bucky asks.

"Hey, I happen to like 'CaptainSGR' just--" Steve cuts himself off as his character reaches the ground and immediately dies. "Did I just get  _sniped_?" he asks, astounded. 

"Looks that way," Bucky replies as he lets off a series of shots to take down two enemies at the base of the tower near Steve's respawning body. 

"I haven't even gotten to  _play_ yet," Steve moans as his character reappears once again near the top of the tower. 

"Steve, just got a warthog. Get your ass over here," Sam instructs. 

"Where is here?"

Thus ensues what feels like ten minutes of Steve trying to navigate across the rocky space between the tower and the canyon to find Sam in a warthog beside one of the paths inside. 

"Get in the gunner seat," Sam tells Steve and hits the accelerator as soon as his character has climbed into the back where the built in machine gun is set up. "Mow 'em down."

Sam and Steve circle the battle field, taking out the enemy Spartans left and right until a couple of the other team's players get smart and throw a grenade in the jeep. When they respawn at the tower, Bucky is no longer in his sniping spot. Steve glances at his screen on top of the TV to see that he has relocated elsewhere on the tower. 

"Ran out of ammo," Bucky answers before Steve has even asked. 

Sam and Steve head back down the tower to reenter the battle. In front of Steve, Sam's character suddenly falls and seconds later Steve's does too, the respawn screen cursing his vision. 

"Are you kidding me?" Steve asks at the same time that Sam swears and Bucky laughs. 

Glancing at the upstairs screen, Steve suddenly understands. "Did you just snipe both of us?" he asks Bucky. 

"He did not," Sam asks over the earpiece. "Son of a--"

"You bet your ass this sniper took out both of your dumb mugs," Bucky barks and Steve drops his controller to tackle Bucky down onto the sofa cushion.

"We are on the same  _team_ ," Sam complains.

"That is why it's funny," Bucky tells him as he fends off Steve's attempts to smother him or wrestle him. Which is unapparent. 

"What is all that noise? And why aren't you moving Steve," Sam asks. 

"Busy," Steve replies.

"Trying to kill me," Bucky tacks on. 

"But he hasn't even raised his weapon-- _Oh_ in real life," Sam suddenly understands. 

"Killing him with my  _love_ ," Steve corrects, suddenly letting himself go and becoming deadweight atop Bucky. The latter's controller is trapped between them and the joystick digs between Steve's ribs.

"Do I need to take off my headset?" Sam asks. 

"Not that kind of love," Bucky huffs, trying to breath despite Steve's weight atop his lungs. However, it ends up sounding far too breathy. 

"I'm out," Sam says hurriedly and he disconnects from the earpieces to leave static behind. 

Bucky laughs so hard that Steve is jostled off of him by the vibrations. The game continues on screen, the randos playing away, while Steve laughs lying on the floor and Bucky chuckles on the sofa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are, as always, much appreciated!  
> Side note, I might write a Halo/Stucky crossover AU in 2017, you never know. The storyline of the gameplay is actually amazing.


	29. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, yesterday was a really off day for me and I just couldn't get into the swing of writing. The Friday post will be up way later tonight!

When Bucky takes a break from designing on Thursday afternoon, Steve and him decide to take the dogs for a walk. It is a bit warmer out, the snow even having melted through the late morning, and it seems a good day to not freeze.

They hook up the dogs and head downstairs, Hudson and Brooklyn dancing around their feet and attempting to tangle them in excitement. Bucky almost eats shit in the apartment building’s entry way and yelps in shock. Brooklyn immediately “apologizes” by quickly pushing off the floor to lick his hand.

On the street, there aren’t many people about. They decide to head east so that they can walk past their favorite coffee joint along the way.

As they walk, Steve hums under his breath. He has a Christmas song stuck in his head, _White Christmas_ , but only hums the chorus on repeat.

“Literally anything else, please,” Bucky asks after Steve has subconsciously gone back to the beginning of the chorus for what feels like the fiftieth time.

Steve laughs and is silent for a moment before humming beginning to hum _500 Miles_.

“Not sure if that’s any better,” Bucky laughs.

“You said anything!”

Bucky playfully shoves Steve to the side, bumping hips and shoulders.

When they reach the coffee shop, Bucky offers to go inside while Steve stays out with the dogs. Despite how much Steve hates the cold, they both know it is hard for Bucky to walk both dogs at the same time with his prosthetic.

Bucky has been gone a few minutes when a woman walks past with a large shepherd mix breed, all dark masked face and poise to a sloping back. It ignores Hudson and Brooklyn, instead watching its owner carefully with a look of utter adoration, but Hudson and Brooklyn don’t seem to notice its indifference. They first begin to wag vigorously and Hudson ducks behind Brooklyn and under her leash to follow the shepherd’s movement as it passes them.

“Don’t—“ Steve starts but it is too late, the dogs are getting hopelessly tangled. Brooklyn’s leash is under one front leg and Hudson has doubled back in his excited prancing and wrapped his leash around Brooklyn’s.

“C’mere,” Steve says, crouching and tugging on Hudson’s leash to pull him closer and begin to untangle. The dogs, of course, have no idea what Steve is doing and hopelessly try to help as he moves them about to unknot the leashes. Brooklyn gets distracted by a city pigeon however and tries to dart away for a moment, pulling the entire tangle tighter. Steve sighs.

Bucky, of course, comes back outside as Steve is crouched on the pavement attempting to untangle the bird’s nest of leash before him. Both dogs let out noises of excitement and pull the entire tangle past Steve and towards the coffee shop door where Bucky has reentered their sights. The leashes catch on Steve’s bent knees and unbalance him, sending him half onto the ground as they hurry to say hello to Bucky.

“He was gone five minutes!” Steve grumbles as he tries to get up off the sidewalk.

Bucky is laughing, straight up belly chuckling, at Steve’s predicament.

“A little help here,” Steve asks, thankfully still holding both leashes despite the mayhem as he rights himself.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says. “I just didn’t expect—As you say, I was only gone five minutes.”

“Just set down the coffee and take a dog please,” Steve says, a laugh infiltrating his voice too now. “I’m hopeless.”

“That we can agree on,” Bucky teases as he sets the cardboard tray with two coffees on one of the outside tables abandoned for the season. He takes one of the leashes from Steve, the dogs still dancing around his feet in excitement, and starts weaving it back through the other to disentangle them. Steve is still crouched on the sidewalk, hoping to not get pulled over again.

“I don’t even know who has got who at this point,” Steve notes, wondering which dog Bucky is untangling from whomever Steve has the leash of.

Finally, Bucky pulls Brooklyn free from the chaos and Hudson’s leash is left on Steve’s wrist. He stands and takes his coffee from the tray.

“And we’re off like a herd of turtles,” he laughs. “Nothing is ever quite straight forward and easy, is it?”

“With you?” Bucky asks. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My family has four dogs. If you think Steve's tangle was bad, try to walk 3+ at once. It is always a bad idea. _Always_.  
>  Also, is it just my family who says "herd of turtles" or is that a universal saying?


	30. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The zoo here is supposed to be Lincoln Park because it makes more sense for Steve and Bucky to go to the one directly in Chicago but I was at Brookfield yesterday so all the mentioned animals are ones I know are at Brookfield (I wanted to be able to write about them authentically) but I'm not positive they are at Lincoln Park. This chapter is basically an ode to my love of zoos and animals.

Steve loves animals and holiday music far too much to care that it is past Christmas. And Bucky will do anything with Steve that will make him happy. This is how they find themselves at the zoo on Friday night, enjoying the lights, listening to the Christmas music, and viewing the exhibits after dark.

“This whole extended hours thing is brilliant,” Bucky muses. “It’s the only way they’d ever get people to walk around the zoo in the winter.”

Steve is bundled from head to toe—hat, gloves, scarf, boots—and agrees wholeheartedly. “Zoo in the winter means we need booze to keep warm though.”

“Subtle,” Bucky says, craning his neck to catch sight of the nearest food cart. The Holiday Hours are a complete change from normal zoo activities, with the lights bring more of an attraction than the normal animals, beer and spiked hot chocolate sold at every food cart, and a massive influx of adults who wouldn’t normally be here without kids. Granted, there is still a high number of children about, excitedly screaming to their parents about the gorilla statue wearing a Santa hat and begging to go see the baby monkeys.

They sidle up to the nearest food cart to purchase hot chocolates and carry on their way. So far, they have passed the big cats and bears but have not gone inside any of the buildings. They are close to the pachyderm house but Bucky is terrible at stomaching the smell. “Please no, not yet,” he asks of Steve, who laughs.

“Okay, where are we going then?” Steve asks.

“Apparently there are baby monkeys,” Bucky prompts with a smile.

Steve throws an arm over Bucky’s shoulders and silently heads to the monkey house. There is a slight wait to get inside, as it is _packed_ but Bucky and Steve calmly join the crowd. Outside the doors however, the wind is whipping between the zoo buildings and Steve presses close behind Bucky, arms wrapped around his waist and head on his shoulder, to keep warm as the line moves slowly forwards.

Finally, they are through the doors and able to see the first exhibit. It is tamarins and they both lose their shit for a moment over how adorable the emperor tamarins and their wild mustaches.

“Please tell me one of them is named Merlin,” Bucky laughs as Steve and him press close to the glass to see the tamarin high above shaking a branch with vigor. The little ape is goading another tamarin into playing, and from across the exhibit one finally caves and launches himself into the tree, scampering to the top only to give chase to the branch shaker as he runs away.

In the next exhibit are the howler monkeys, loud as ever. They don’t stay long as one of the males continuously whoops his call. Even through the glass, it is quite jarring.

The next one has a huge crowd outside, and it is undoubtedly where the babies are. It is the exhibit for the red tailed monkeys and the offspring are undoubtedly on exhibit at the moment, what with the oohs and ahs being released by the crowd. The children are excited, shouts of delight reaching their ears as Bucky and Steve approach the viewing window.

Both of them can see somewhat over the crowd and Steve gets a glimpse of a monkey swinging across the top of the exhibit from the branches. No one further ahead in the crowd pays attention to it however, so the babies must be on the ground. Eventually, Steve and Bucky are able to slip into a closer spot as other patrons leave and _finally_ see the baby red tailed monkeys for themselves.

There are two babies, one slightly larger than the other, wrestling and playing on the ground of the exhibit. They remind Steve of puppies as they play but become distracted easily, picking at the ground, grabbing leaves, and watching the adult monkeys. They rarely become distracted at the same time however, and the other will tackle the distracted one to draw them back into the game. They are adorable, incredibly disproportionate as they have tiny heads and bodies but tails nearly as long as an adult despite their young age. Nearby, one of their mothers sits and surveys the game, scooting in the separate them a few times when the slightly larger of the two becomes too rough. It is obvious that the younger one is hers, as she holds him close to her whenever she is forced the referee their games.

They have seemingly endless amounts of energy as they wrestle, tackle, and tease one another. Steve wonders if they are usually this active or if the late hours at the zoo have kept them awake past their usual bedtime.

Bucky and Steve don’t stay long, not wanting to deprive the excited children behind them of the prime viewing spot, and move on through the monkey house. The rest of the exhibits seem uneventful after the red tailed monkeys, except the gorillas where the large, male silverback is sitting beside the window surveying his family. The children all flock to the glass behind him, excited that they are close enough that had their not been glass, they could have touched him. It makes Steve nervous after the gorilla at the Omaha zoo broke the glass earlier this year, but he doubts many other people keep up with zoo related news enough to have even heard of the event.

Eventually, they filter out the exit of the monkey house. The spot it spits them out on is a sidewalk adjacent to a grassy mall where lights have been set up for the holidays. Steve immediately recognizes the song as one of Manheim Steamroller’s pieces from their Christmas album. They both stop, watching the display before them, as lights flash to the music and huge spotlights reach to the clouds above and roam the sky.

“Shit, this is awesome,” Bucky breathes as they watch the lights and music work in perfect synchronization.

“It must take so many people to get this all to work correctly,” Steve muses, not taking his eyes off of the display.

They slowly move down the sidewalk, passing more and more of the exhibition and ogling at it. Bucky slips his hand into Steve’s as they do, pulling him closer so their arms brush as they walk.

They reach the end of the mall as the song ends, the lights turning off one section at a time to the final beats of the music. Steve stops walking, pulling Bucky to a stop too, and they stare for a moment at the now dark space before Mariah Carey suddenly begins singing and the lights come back on.

“Damn I’m feeling Christmasy again,” Steve breathes.

“Merry Christmas you fucking nerd,” Bucky laughs, pressing up onto his toes for a moment to kiss Steve’s cheek.

Steve turns and catches Bucky’s lips with his for a moment before he returns to flat footed. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested in seeing a video of the Omaha zoo gorilla, [here](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjwoanAq5_RAhUB_4MKHbyWB1sQ3ywIGzAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D_UxoDRHmXfs&usg=AFQjCNGlyeMID5Qxjb_OanhzZTkGnT0buA&sig2=PkIJEcn4cJ7WOFCwlDzirQ&bvm=bv.142059868,d.amc) is a link to the media coverage of it.  
> Comments and kudos are, as always, much appreciated!   
> Because I have gotten one day behind now, I will probably post the 31st tomorrow and not tonight! I plan to be really drunk so you probably wouldn't want to read it if I did post it tonight lol


	31. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! May 2017 bring so much more than 2016 ever could!

“Is it midnight yet?” Bucky mumbles beside Steve. It is highly amusing, considering they are adults who survived undergraduate schooling while embracing their new found freedom, that Bucky can barely stay awake right now.

“This is pathetic Barnes,” Natasha teases from her armchair. They are all gathered around the television in Tony and Pepper’s apartment, watching the Chi-Town Rising coverage for Chicago. The New York ball had dropped a bit ago, so they had switched channels to local New Year’s Eve coverage.

“You’ve got thirty minutes before you can sleep,” Steve tells Bucky, squeezing him with the arm wrapped around his shoulders and then rubbing his bicep in an attempt to keep him awake.

“Does this mean we are getting old?” Bucky asks. Steve laughs.

“Is anyone in need of a fresh beverage?” Thor calls from where he is situated before Tony’s expensive bar cart, vigorously shaking a martini shaker.

Natasha rises to her feet to have her martini glass refilled. Steve is still wondering when they went from beer drinking students to martini drinking adults.

Steve watches the coverage, listening to the somewhat off pitch performance by Saint Motel, and simply surveys his friends. Sam comes and settles onto the couch on the other side of Steve with a drink that smells like it has Fireball in it. Internally, Steve shudders.

“A little birdy told me that I am going to have to get my suit soon,” Sam says, eyebrows rising as he looks pointedly at Steve’s left hand.

“Is the little birdy the one fucking asleep right now?”

“It’s a very tired bird I suppose.”

“But he’s still right. I kind of like him, gonna marry him and all that.”

Sam practically launches to his feet in excitement, pumping his arm in victory, but over what Steve doesn’t know.

“Yes, _finally_ ,” Sam celebrates. “Nat, you owe me twenty bucks!”

“You _bet_ on us?”

“We took bets on what is gonna happen in 2017 and I bet you two would finally seal the deal.”

“Nat risked twenty bucks on us _not_ getting married next year?”

Natasha makes her way back over then from the kitchen with a delicate in hors d’oeuvres her hand. Tony _might_ have gone overboard with this party but none of them are complaining.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Natasha tells them with a wink. “Until then, my wallet is sealed.”

“Nat, Steve bought the wedding bands and everything!” Sam complains.

“See it to believe it,” she repeats.

“Who is talking about our wedding bands?” Bucky grumbles, waking. He was probably out for no less than five minutes but his voice sounds like it was hours.

“Who would be that invested in our personal lives?” Steve asks Bucky as he blinks open his eyes.

“Oh, duh.” His eyes fasten on the two people around them and he just rolls them. “Whatever, I am ready for a shot.”

Bucky heaves himself out of Tony’s deep, overly comfortable sofa and heads for the bar cart where Tony himself is now mixing some concoction of epic, ritzy proportions. (Damn Tony and his multiple degrees and high paying job running his own company).

“He’s just… ready to go?” Sam asks.

“Never underestimate the power of a power nap,” Natasha laughs before plopping onto Bucky’s vacated cushion beside Steve. “You on the other hand don’t seem drunk enough.”

And that is how Natasha and Bucky end up talking the entire party into doing a round of shots with ten minutes until midnight. Tony and Natasha play bartender as they mix different ones for everyone, producing various bottles and ingredients from the cabinets and bar cart as they line up the shots along the island kitchen counter.

Bucky raises his shot glass like he is going to make a toast. “Goodbye 2016, you shithole,” he proclaims seriously.

“Goodbye 2016,” everyone repeats and then touches their shot glasses to the counter and lifts them to throw it back.

Following the shots, Natasha and Tony immediately receive multiple compliments on how _good_ the shots were and Steve thinks that they both have backup careers if need be.

“Consider this, what if I open a night club?” Tony loudly asks Pepper and Jane. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve had.”

“I’ll agree with the latter,” Pepper tells him.

Now, they only have five minutes to fill champagne flutes and all get back to the living room. A sizeable group—Banner, Jane, Maria, Sam, and Clint—scurry off into the house to find bathrooms, fighting for the closer ones and shouting to request directions to the further ones as they rush to be back in time for the countdown.

Thor helpfully retrieves champagne flutes from a top shelf in the kitchen and Pepper arranges them on the counter.

“Who is going to open these?” she asks, pulling the bottles of champagne from the large, double sized fridge. “It terrifies me if I am going to be honest.”

“Steve’s got this,” Bucky volunteers, a laugh in his voice. It’s not Steve’s fault that he had broken a mirror last year, yet here they are. He throws a look to kill at Bucky.

Steve accepts the bottles from Pepper like a death sentence and pulls the towel from the handle of one of the double ovens. When he gets the foil off of the first and begins untwisting the metal piece, a steady cheer of his name occurs. He has an idea of who started it but Bucky is outside his range of vision so he can’t be positive.

Carefully, he aims the cork to shoot across the kitchen and into a corner of the living room where nothing looks breakable. As the metal loosens, his muscles keep coiling tighter in apprehension. Why didn’t he say no when Bucky volunteered him?

Suddenly, the cork falls loose and a tiny amount of the champagne sloshes out onto the towel Steve has wrapped around the top. The cheering ceases.

“That was…anticlimactic.”

“Shut up Bucky.”

A warm body hugs him from behind and he knows it is Bucky’s drunken apology for the comment. Steve could really care less about the words however.

Steve hands Pepper the open bottle and she begins to pour it into the flutes. Steve then starts on the second, Bucky still clinging to his back like a baby monkey.

Some people begin to take champagne flutes and head back to the living room for the countdown as Steve wiggles the cork out of the second bottle. This one _pops_.

Pepper screams for a millisecond. Thor booms a loud “What the fuck!”. Sam, just returned from the bathroom, flinches and covers his face. Steve yelps, and Bucky falls off of his back.

The cork flies, hitting the drywall in the living room and leaving an indentation the size of a quarter. Naturally, everyone rushes towards the spot. Steve stays behind, hurriedly moving the overflowing bottle of champagne to the sink as it leaks over the towel and his hands.

Natasha is the one to break away from the drunken wall analyzing to come help Steve. Together, they fill the rest of the champagne flutes as she brings them from the island counter to have Steve fill them over the sink. The bottle and the towel are still dripping so when they are done, he leaves them resting on the bottom of the stainless steal basin so that the counter does not become a sticky mess.

When they finally join everyone in the living room, Steve brings a flute for Bucky.

“Never again,” Steve whispers to him, lips close to his ear. Bucky laughs.

“Thirty seconds!” Thor booms over the din of chatter. From down the hall, footsteps are heard and several of the bathroom goers reappear.

Everyone clusters around the television as the countdown begins, but no one counts aloud yet as they jostle and arrange themselves. Steve sneaks a hand around Bucky’s waist and pulls him into his side.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Natasha hurrying to Clint’s side. Tony slips behind Pepper and wraps his arms around her from behind. Thor and Jane are side-by-side nearest the TV. Only a handful of them have people to kiss in twenty seconds time.

“Shush!” Tony barks as they near the ten second mark. Then, “Ten!” he starts.

“Nine!” Steve joins in.

“Eight!” Bucky purposefully says too close to Steve’s ear because apparently Steve just did the same on accident to his fiancé, whoops.

“Seven,” they carry on. “Six, five, four, three, two, one!”

The entire room screeches, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Steve raises his glass to take a sip but Bucky is already on his toes stealing a kiss. He pulls Steve down and they both snake their arms around one another’s backs, probably dripping champagne onto Tony’s Brazilian wood floors but they don’t care at the moment. Bucky’s lips are melding perfectly to Steve’s. Someone tells them to get a room but neither pays any attention as they switch the direction of their heads’ tilt and keep at it. Bucky tastes like multiple flavors of vodka from his drinks tonight and Steve loses himself in it.

Steve breaks away when he feels like he isn’t getting enough oxygen and pulls back to breath and then chugs his champagne. Bucky lets out a bark of laughter and quickly slaps a hand to his mouth, shocked by the sharp noise. Steve swoops in for another kiss as soon as his flute is empty.

Bucky pulls away because he starts laughing again and Steve leaves his arms looped around his waist as he pulls him into his chest.

“Happy New Year,” Steve says against his temple, lips brushing his skin.

Through his shirt, he thinks he feels Bucky’s lips press to his collarbone. “Happy New Year, Stevie,” Bucky says, just audible over everyone’s chatter. On the television, commercials are running and they have been promised another musical performance when the live broadcast returns. All Steve really cares about at the moment though is Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's two experiences here are the only ones I have ever had with champagne. There is no in-between. Also, my sister pulled exactly what Bucky did last night and power napped for about two minutes before demanding to keep the party going and it was _hilarious_.  
>  Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with the story this month! I had SO much fun writing all of these and it has honestly improved my fluff game like 9x over. Your comments and everything mean so much to me, definitely kept me going to know people were enjoying the chapters and looking forward to more!  
> Hopefully this is not goodbye to some of you, I will be of course writing more Stucky in the future (Halo AU? Finally continuing Operation Incarcerated? Who knows) and hope some of you guys will carry over as readers to my other writing. Thank you so, so much for this month! If you want to keep up with me, subscribe and you can also follow me on [tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com) to watch me complain about writing and cry about Stucky in a daily basis lol


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